


Plucky Side Characters Don't Get Fairytale Endings

by KeyboardSmashFics



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, I swear this is not an angst fic, eventually, it's there, maybe a few lemons, there's sarcasm and memes, vanderwood is exasperated with everything, yes it's explicit because there's a lemon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2019-11-27 11:22:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18193937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeyboardSmashFics/pseuds/KeyboardSmashFics
Summary: What exactly are you supposed to do when your kind but naive best friend has been kidnapped and tricked into an apartment? Well, you go after them, that's what.A story of sarcasm, friendship, and the wonders of old-fashioned common sense.





	1. In Which Vanderwood Gets an Assignment

**Day 2: 5:35PM**

**The Costume Shop**

The shop was quiet today.

Mannequins had been stripped of their costume pieces, rolled to the side and into temporary storage. Tables that were normally covered in fabric and pin catchers were empty, their cork covers bare and brown and awaiting the next day of work. Project bins were empty of items for this particular show, all the costumes finished and loaded onto the costume rack weeks ago. Floors swept clean of stray bits of fabric and thread, irons shut off, and without the typical whirr of sewing machines and sergers, the costume shop simmered in the strange state of limbo that only exists between the end of a workday and the beginning of the final night of a production. The rest of the cast and crew weren’t due to show up for another hour or so, and until then the theater would remain in a quiet, eerie calm.

Melody sat on a tall stool beside one of the wide windows, sunshine pouring in as she worked out a few emergency repairs on one of the lead actor’s costumes. He’d been a bit too vigorous during the previous night’s fencing scene and severely ripped a seam. It wasn’t a difficult fix, but it needed to be done. She hummed quietly as she brushed her sweeping bangs out of her face and tied off the ends of the thread, hunting for a pair of scissors.

“Looking for these, songbird?”

Melody jumped as a pair of arms wrapped around her from behind, waving a small pair of trimming scissors in her face in greeting. The hug only lasted for a moment, but she knew exactly who it was.

“Thanks, Zen,” she said, taking the scissors as she turned around to face him. “You should be more careful when you’re out there. I can fix fabric, but you almost hurt yourself.”

“I’m _fine_.” He waved her off nonchalantly, perching on one of the empty stools by the cutting tables.

“You almost fell off a platform,” Melody deadpanned, cutting a scathing look in his direction.

“Okay, yes ma’am, I’ll be more careful tonight,” Zen said with a sigh, holding his hands up in surrender. “Can’t have anything happening to this face.”

Melody snorted and rolled her eyes, but there was no malice in the gesture. At first, his narcissism had led to more than a few arguments between them, but all that was in the past. She’d been working for the theater part time, and thus working with Zen quite often, for three years now. It took a while for her to warm up to him, but it turned out that Zen really was a good guy. After you got used to the narcissism, that was. Years later, he was actually one of her closest friends.

Not that she had many friends. Or that the close ones were very close. Melody was a bit of a private person. She socialized, but wasn’t the incredibly social butterfly that Zen was, or even really a people person like her best friend, Rosalie. She liked books, and music, and research. She liked teaching. She liked puzzles.

She did not like bars. Which, if her timing was right, Zen was about to mention. Again.

“So, have you thought any more about the after party tonight?”

Ah, right on time.

“It’s not really my scene,” she said awkwardly, nose wrinkling. Cast and crew after parties weren’t really her thing, especially out at popular bars. Why go get drunk somewhere when she could drink in her own apartment, where it was cheaper and she wouldn’t have to worry about being roofied, or catcalled, or catching a cab home?

“Oh, come on, you always say that!” Zen whined.

“Try this on.” Melody held up the ornate, Renaissance-style doublet and Zen automatically stood, letting her slip it around his shoulders with ease. It might have been enough to get him to shush during an official fitting, but not when they were the only two people around. He adjusted the doublet, giving Melody all of about two seconds to check her work before he spoke again, a pleading look in his crimson eyes.

“How about this: I won’t bother you about it for the next three shows if you come for an hour.”

Oh, he had her there. Melody looked up, biting her lip. The offer was tempting. Zen was slated to be in the next two shows here at least, and it wouldn’t be long before he showed up in another one, judging by his previous employment history. Getting out of the next three cast parties without pestering for an hour of her time?

“… It’s just an hour?”

“Just save me from being on my own with everyone in the cast for one hour. One drink. Promise.” He drew an “x” over his heart with his index finger. “It’ll be more fun with you there.”

Melody threw her hands up in the air in surrender.

“Okay, fine.”

“Yesss!” Zen punched the air briefly and slipped out of the doublet. “You’re the best.”

“ _But_ ,” Melody continued quickly, “I have to go and check on my friend first. She’s been acting weird over text and she isn’t answering when I call her.”

“That’s fine, babe. Go check on your friend.” He nodded firmly, completely ignoring the fact that he _knew_ Melody didn’t enjoy being called ‘babe.’ It made her feel like she was a fling instead of a friend. Or in the 80s.

“Go get ready, Mr. Lead Actor,” Melody said, shooing him out of the shop. She picked up the doublet from where it lay on the cutting table and tossed her bag over her shoulder. They both needed to get out of here and she needed to lock up.

“What, no ‘break a leg?’” Zen pouted, but she knew he was kidding.

“You know my luck. The second I wish you that, you’ll _actually_ break your leg, and that would be bad for everyone.”

She fished in her bag for her keys as he shrugged, sauntering out of the shop. Melody locked the door behind her and followed Zen back to the dressing rooms, doublet in hand. Okay, so maybe one drink wouldn’t hurt her, and there would be a few hours to check on Rosalie before the cast party started. If she was a little late and she still stayed for an hour, that still fulfilled her part of the bargain, right?

 

* * *

**Day 2: 10:27PM**

**Rosalie’s Apartment**

 

 **Me:** Hey, are you sure you’re okay?

 **Rosalie:** Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry.

 **Me:** Okay, well, I’m coming by after the show. I’ll bring Chinese takeout.

 **Rosalie:** No, don’t do that.

 **Rosalie:** I’m sick. Don’t want you to catch it.

 

“Bullshit…” Melody muttered, walking up the steps to Rosalie’s apartment complex. Never once in their four years of friendship had she known Rosalie to refuse Chinese takeout.

Luckily, though, she had an ace in the hole: a spare key.

She shuffled along the breezeway until she reached Rosalie’s door, quickly sliding the key into the lock. The deadbolt clicked open, and Melody gingerly pushed the door open. No lights showed through the crack, though it could be that she was asleep. However, as she eased the door open, it was obvious that there wasn’t a chain on either.

Melody stepped inside and flipped on the lights, walking straight back to the bedroom.

Empty.

“Fuck.”

Where the hell was she? She didn’t have a boyfriend. The whole apartment only consisted of the kitchen, living area, and bedroom, so it wasn’t like there was anywhere she could hide. Melody took in the bedroom area, but there wasn’t much information there. Bed neatly made, curtains drawn. Bathroom in order. Walking back out to the living area didn’t show many signs of life either. Rosalie kept her place neat, almost the complete opposite of Melody. At least it was clear that she had left willingly, whatever small comfort that might be.

The kitchen didn’t provide much more help at first glance, but…

Dishes in the sink. The blender that she used to make protein shakes in the morning hadn’t been totally rinsed, and the leftover mixture on the inside was dry as a bone. The sink itself and the other dishes were dry, too. Suspicious, Melody opened the refrigerator, grabbing the bottle of milk on the door. The expiration date read two days ago. Eggs were four days old. That was out of character for her, which meant she hadn’t been here in at least two days.

Melody flipped off the lights, locked the door behind her, and pulled out her phone. As sweet as Rosalie was, she was a little naïve and forgetful. With luck, she would have also forgotten… yep. Location services were still turned on, and they showed her halfway across town. There was still enough time to go and check it out before the cast party started.

A vague part of her wanted to call the police, but what was she supposed to say? “My best friend is being secretive and acting weird, and she’s across town and won’t tell me why?” Yeah, because _that_ was something they’d check on. No, she’d just have to do this herself. Good thing she got paid today. At least that was enough money for cab fare.

 

 **Me:** Why are you lying?

 **Rosalie:** I’m not lying!

 **Me:** Well, you’re not at your apartment.

 **Rosalie:** Yes, I am! I’m just sick. I’ll see you soon, I promise. I just need a few days to recover.

 **Me:** You left your snapchat location on, dumbass.

 **Rosalie:** Mels, STOP

 **Rosalie:** DO NOT COME HERE

 **Me:** Too late, bitch

 

Melody put her phone in her pocket and ignored the subsequent buzzing from incoming text messages as she flagged down a cab.

* * *

**Day 2: 11:02PM**

**Rosalie’s Apartment**

“Shit…” Vanderwood swore, scrubbing a hand across his eyes as he sighed. He was supposed to be keeping an eye on the apartment from a distance for Luciel, but he hadn’t expected anyone to come by, especially anyone clearly looking for the girl inside.

Then again, perhaps that was foolish of him. Most people had friends, contacts, loved ones. It would make sense that someone might come looking for them, but the problem was that she’d just put herself in danger by looking for the new apartment occupant. If he was watching the place, he was certain that the rogue hacker was, too. He was also certain that said hacker was willing to take any opportunity to get a leg up on this trapped girl, for whatever reason. He could have easily sent someone to go and search for her… but if so, why would she wander around like she didn’t know where to look? Why not just give her the apartment number?

Vanderwood pulled out his agency phone and dialed, keeping one eye on the girl as she flagged down another cab. He didn’t think she’d been able to pinpoint the exact apartment, but she’d been stupid enough to wander up and down the breezeways, clearly shouting for someone named Rosalie. With the window of his parked car cracked open, he could even hear it from the parking lot.

“Luciel, what’s the girl’s name?”

“The one in the apartment? Rosalie.”

Vanderwood let out a creative streak of swears, throwing his car into gear. The cab pulled away, and he followed from a careful distance. At least he knew it was someone looking for Rosalie, though he couldn’t confirm at this point if she was working for anyone or simply a concerned friend.

“Someone was snooping around the property looking for her.”

“Understood. I’ll check on Rosalie. You—”

“Already following her.”

“Good. Thank you, Miss Mary.”

Vanderwood simply grumbled in response and hung up the phone.

He followed the cab across town, through heavy traffic, until it stopped in front of a seedy-looking bar. The girl in the cab hopped out, waved to the driver, and took off inside. Interesting. It looked like a busy place, but he wouldn’t have thought she’d go here after wandering around looking for her friend.

Vanderwood parked his car on the street and made his way inside.

The place was well-lit, boasting a warm atmosphere and a large crowd of people for somewhere that looked more than a little off the beaten path from the outside. The girl from the cab was identifiable by her long, red scarf, now draped over the back of a tall chair at the bar. He stuck to the walls, found a small table in the back corner, and ordered a whiskey for himself.

It looked like there was a party going on, and the girl clearly seemed to know them, but she didn’t look intent on interacting. In fact, she seemed _tense_. Her leg bounced nervously on the footrest of her chair, shoulders hiked up nearly to her ears, one fist clenched so tightly that her knuckles appeared white against the fabric of her black jeans, while the other clutched the handle of a metal mug just as tightly. So… she was nervous, but why? Worry? Fear of being caught?

“Hey, lighten up, babe.” A man with shockingly white hair walked over and threw his arm around the girl’s shoulders.

“I can’t,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Remember my friend that I said I was checking on? She wasn’t at her apartment, and she lied to me about being sick.”

Hm. So… worry was more likely.

“Did you call the police?” he asked, eyes going wide as he shifted to sit on the stool beside her.

“And tell them what? My best friend is acting weird? I’m just going to have to figure it out on my own.” She sighed, taking a long sip of her drink. The man opened his mouth to respond, but didn’t make it before another girl dressed in black whisked him away, begging him to dance with her. He happily obliged, looking back over his shoulder briefly at the girl still sitting at the bar.

Vanderwood watched as she went back to her drink. She was smaller than she’d looked while frantically searching around the complex, maybe 160 centimeters. Maybe less. Her dark hair was pulled up haphazardly into a half-fallen bun, stray curls falling around to frame her face. Flyaway bangs. Flushed cheeks. Round face that made her look much younger than the drink she was holding indicated.

His phone buzzed while he was lost in thought.

 

 **707:** Did you find her?

 **Me:** Yes. Seems harmless.

 **707:** Rosalie says so, too. She says it’s her friend who figured out she isn’t at her apartment.

 **Me:** I’ll return to my post, then.

 

Vanderwood tucked the phone into his pocket and knocked back the rest of his whiskey. Well, at least this was a welcome reprieve from the monotony of a stakeout, though it made him twitchy to think that something might have happened while he was gone. He was about to stand and discreetly leave the bar when his phone buzzed again.

 

 **707:** No! New plan. Follow her. See if she alerted the hacker.

 **Me:** …

 **Me:** You’re doing this to appease her, aren’t you?

 **707:** Pretty please?

 **707:** Just for a day or two?

 **707:** I promise I’ll finish the next five assignments in the backup from the agency

 **Me:** Fine

 

He was in between assignments for the agency, anyhow. If it helped keep Luciel out of trouble, Vanderwood supposed he could stomach tailing a random woman for two days. He’d completed more tedious assignments in the past, and it might help them get on the trail of this potentially threatening hacker.

Heaving a sigh, he settled back into his chair and looked despondently at his now empty whiskey glass. Judging by the excitement of the other people in the room, this party might not be over any time soon. He might as well settle in for the time being.

* * *

**Day 3: 7:30PM**

**Melody’s Apartment**

The next morning, Melody peeled herself off the couch to the sound of a blaring alarm, groaning as she tried to stretch out the crick in her stiff neck. She’d come home ever so slightly tipsy and flopped over on the couch, certain that she’d just stay there long enough to let her head clear, but that hadn’t worked out. Now she was dehydrated, had a bad taste in her mouth, and was still wearing the rumpled, slightly smelly black clothes from the day before.

Great. What a way to start the day.

It was Saturday, but there were still things to do, and thus she needed to get up. Saturday was library research day in the life of a graduate student, and Melody needed to get to campus to keep working on the homework and grading she’d been putting off till the last minute during the run of the show. In reality, she partially regretting taking the part-time job with the theater during the school year, but she needed the extra money, and getting her off campus and out into the world was good for her.

Theoretically.

On days she _didn’t_ wake up on her couch lamenting what a lightweight she was.

After stripping off her dirty clothing, grumbling her way through a shower, and brushing her teeth until the only thing she could taste was mint toothpaste, Melody sleepily dressed, grabbed her backpack, and stumbled out the door. This was the last time that she stayed out till 2AM when she needed to get up in the morning to get actual work done.

The bus stop was surprisingly crowded for the 9:15 stop. She didn’t manage to get a seat and wasn’t tall enough to grab the bar, so she just braced herself in the aisle and hoped that the bus wouldn’t hit any sudden stops. Her mind wandered as they rolled through the city, thinking through her schedule for the day as she tugged on the hem of her university T-shirt. There was grading to be done. That was first priority. After grading, she could take some time to work through those essay questions for her nineteenth-century history seminar, and then work on the massive amount of readings on her plate after lunch…

“Whoa!” Melody gasped, stumbling as the bus lurched to a stop. She managed to catch herself, but only by stumbling into the back of the person standing in front of her. He turned slightly, giving her a moment’s look at his face before embarrassment got the better of her. Unruly brown hair framed chiseled features and piercing gray eyes. A handsome face, a strong physique, and _much_ taller than she was.

“S—sorry,” she murmured, immediately looking down as her cheeks flushed red.

“Here,” he said quietly. Melody felt hands reach out to grip her shoulders as he guided her forward, swapping places so that she was closer to a vertical pole to hold onto. He reached out effortlessly to grab the top bar as the bus lurched again, forcing Melody to grab on to her newfound support.

“Thank you. Sorry.”

She hoped that would be the end of it, but it appeared that it wasn’t.

“Are you a student?” he asked. She wondered how he could possibly know that for a moment, but quickly remember that her school name was practically plastered across her chest thanks to her shirt.

“I am. I’m heading to the school, actually,” she said, nodding as she shyly looked up. Oh, _lord_ , he was handsome. She hadn’t seen anyone like him for a long time, and dressed in dark clothing and gloves… Though that leopard print on the inside of his jacket was admittedly questionable.

“I wonder if you could help me, then,” he said coolly, apparently unaffected by how flustered she felt from crashing into him. “I’ve recently been hired as a professor, and I don’t know my way around yet. Do you think you could get me to the main library?”

“Oh,” Melody stammered, eyebrows raised. Well, that was a weird coincidence, but not totally unheard of. Students and professors alike used the buses to get around town. “Sure. I’m going there, myself, so I’ll walk with you— ahh!” She grabbed onto the pole again as the bus screeched to a stop, deciding that the edge of campus was close enough to where she wanted to be. Another minute with this driver and she’d lose the granola bar she’d scarfed on the way to the bus stop.

“Come on, let’s go.” Melody picked up her bag from where she’d left it on the floor of the bus, slung it over her shoulder, and quickly exited the bus. She was just glad to be on solid ground again, though they still needed to walk most of the way across campus. The man followed behind her, keeping pace silently as she followed the path leading towards the library.

“I’m Melody. What’s your name?”

“Dr. Pardus,” he said, holding out his gloved hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You as well. What department are you from?” she asked, shaking his hand briefly.

“Criminal justice.”

“Ah. No wonder you haven’t been to the library much.” The criminal justice building was on the complete opposite side of campus from the main library, and the department boasted its own smaller library inside the building. “Well, it’s over this way. If you follow the main path, you’ll eventually get there, but it’s faster to cut through past the science building.”

She hung a sharp right turn around the corner of a tall building, taking the shortcut through the center of campus. The library was the most dominating feature of the campus skyline, and it was easy to see once you came close, but there were plenty of different paths to get there, and this wasn’t the first time she’d given directions.

“And you? What are you studying?” he asked, looking briefly down at her.

“I’m a history grad student,” she said with a smile. “If you come to the main library often, you might see me around. I practically live there.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for you, then.” He smiled slightly, and Melody couldn’t help but smile back.

It didn’t take them long to get to the building, and Melody waved goodbye at the doors as she turned left to take the stairs up to the third floor. He seemed nice enough. Maybe she’d look him up later, see what his research and specializations were, but for now she needed to get to work.

In her back pocket, her cell phone buzzed. She took it out, intending to respond quickly and turn the ringer off for the day, but the text was strange.

 

 **Unknown:** Hello? Are you there?

 

Melody blinked at the text, shrugged, and shoved her phone back in her pocket, now switched to silent. Clearly a wrong number. She needed to clear out her texts later, anyways.


	2. In Which Melody Trusts No One

**Day 3: 12:24PM**

**The Campus Library**

Twenty-four hours of tailing this girl yielded very little information, but at least she was easy to track. She’d been in the library since ten o’ clock in the morning, only moving from her spot at a table by the window for long enough to purchase a sandwich from the café on the ground floor for her lunch.

Posing as a professor also offered a wonderful opportunity to catch up on his work in the library while keeping on eye on his target. 707 forwarded some information to him, which Vanderwood reviewed in between filling out case reports for his other assignments. Her name was Melody Pennick. She was a twenty-four year old graduate student and longtime friend of Rosalie Hammond, who had recently fallen in with the RFA. Vanderwood only knew the barest of details about the RFA, but it was enough for him to understand that this hacker might cause trouble for the agency as well.

In any case, it didn’t look like Melody was affiliated with the hacker. She seemed like a relatively normal, stressed student. History major, good grades on her records, worked a part time job, volunteered as a member of a handbell choir at a local church. A textbook good girl, with nothing more scathing on her record than a traffic ticket.

She pinned her hair up with a pencil and repeatedly forgot, sending it tumbling into her face multiple times throughout the day, sat and read through materials with the speed of a madwoman, and occasionally stood from her chair to stretch or fidget. So, textbook eccentric academic as well, it seemed. In fact, the only thing that she did that concerned him was to check her cell phone several times over the course of the day, each time with a concerned look on her face. One eye on Melody’s research spot, Vanderwood shot off a quick text to his partner.

 

 **Me:** How hard would it be for you to remotely hack a cell phone?

 **707:** Do you have a number for me?

 **Me:** I don’t.

 **Me:** I bet Rosalie does.

 

Luciel’s new friend had been contacted by text message, claiming that a hacker remotely installed an app on her phone. If they could do that for Rosalie, it probably wouldn’t be a stretch to extend it to her friend. It was clear that Melody would be an easy target for anyone wanting to reach out to Rosalie or manipulate her, but what wasn’t clear was why Rosalie was the target in the first place. Maybe she was just unlucky? Maybe they were looking for someone naïve enough to take instructions? Maybe she wasn’t even the first one the hacker tried to trick into following his instructions, only the first one to follow through.

Maybe they would never know.

In any case, Vanderwood didn’t plan on seeing another person tricked by some second-rate hacker with an unknown agenda. Not on his watch.

* * *

**Day 4: 2:53PM**

**Main Street, Near the Bus Stop**

The texts didn’t stop.

She thought that if she ignored them, whoever it was would eventually give up, but it only got worse over time. They just kept coming, every few minutes or few hours, and she had yet to respond, but she knew that _they_ knew she saw them.

 

 **Unknown:** It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? That flower stall has some lovely roses.

 

Melody shoved her phone back in her pocket, a cold chill running down her spine as she looked to her left, eyes fixed on a display of multicolored roses by a street vendor selling flowers. She walked faster, ignoring the subsequent buzzing of text messages.

This was the second day they’d been coming. First there was all day at the library, and today they’d gotten worse. It was like they knew where she was somehow, like they were tracking her, and she didn’t know who or why or how it was even possible.

She actually did go to the police this time, but she couldn’t think of anyone who might be after her or why. Melody mentioned that things started after her friend was acting suspicious, but the woman at the desk had brushed her off with a roll of her eyes, clearly of the opinion that someone was playing a harmless prank. Besides, she said, the technology to track a random phone without a number or location or any previous contact was only theoretical. No one normal would be able to make that happen.

Melody said that it clearly wasn’t normal.

They called the next person in line.

 

 **Unknown:** How are the good folks at the police station?

 

Melody felt ready to cry. She wasn’t about to simply stop going about her life because of these text messages, and she got the eerie feeling that if they could track her all around the city, then they absolutely knew where she lived. However, it terrified her to think that someone was watching her every move. She scrubbed her tears from her eyes with the back of her hand and kept walking, determined to make it to the bus stop.

 

 **Unknown:** No need to cry, kitten. I won’t hurt you. I want to help you find your friend.

 

That was the text that made her snap.

 

 **Me:** Prove it

 **Unknown:** Your friend is safe. In fact, we’ll take you to her.

 **Unknown:** I promise she is safe, and that you will be, too.

 

Melody didn’t quite notice when she’d stopped walking, but she did notice when a black car pulled up on the street beside where she stood, standing dumbly in place on the sidewalk. She began to back away slowly as a neatly-dressed driver hopped out of the car, walked around, and opened the back door.

If this didn’t scream “potential hostage situation,” then she didn’t know what did.

Her phone went off again, and she risked looking down at the messages even as her heart pounded wildly in her chest, every instinct howling for her to run far, far away from here.

 

 **Unknown:** If you want to see your friend, then get in the car.

 **Unknown:** Don’t worry. You’ll be back again in no time.

 

“Ma’am?” the driver asked, waiting expectantly as he held the door open. A cold chill shot down Melody’s spine. What if she went with them? What if she didn’t? Every instinct in her body screamed at her to run, but what would happen to Rosalie? What kind of shit was she into?

She stared openly at the door for another moment, mind reeling. She wanted a second opinion. She wanted to tell someone where she was. She wanted to not be doing this alone. She wanted… she wanted a second to get a plate number, dammit! There was no way she’d be getting in that car, but was someone tracking her? Would it do any good to run?

“I suggest that you do not get in that car, Miss Pennick.”

Before she had a chance to even see who spoke, an arm was around her shoulders, guiding her away from the vehicle and down the street at a pace that was so quick that she had to stumble to keep up. She glanced over her shoulder briefly, looking back at where the driver stared at her, but stumbled as she tried to turn.

“Hey, what the hell—?”

“Keep up.”

Strong arms held her upright and pulled her forward at once. By the time she finally regained her balance enough to look up at the man who swept her away, they were lost in the city crowds and far enough away from the vehicle that she wasn’t sure they would have been able to follow her. It made her feel both terrified and relieved at once, until it all dissolved into confusion when she took in the face of the man standing next to her.

“Dr… Pardus?” Melody blinked, her steps slowing.

“Tell me, what kind of idiot gets into strange cars on their own with no knowledge of who is telling you to get in the vehicle?”

“Wha— I wasn’t _getting in the car_!” she snapped, shrugging out of his grip. “I was trying to figure out how to get a plate number or an identification or _something_ , and what are you even doing out here anyway?”

As if to answer, he held up a brown paper bag sporting the logo of a local pastry shop, eyebrow raised. “I happened to be walking by, and you seemed distressed.”

“I was,” she admitted. “Am. I mean, I’m fine, it’s just… I should go. Thanks.”

Melody shuffled off down the street aimlessly, just eager to get away from him, get away from the car, get away from this. She debated chucking her phone, but she wasn’t sure how much good it would do. If she got another one, they’d just find her again, and who was to say that they couldn’t just track her some other way?

It wasn’t until a few minutes later, when she replayed the incident in her head for the third or fourth time, that she realized she’d never told Dr. Pardus her last name.

* * *

**Day 5: 7:18PM**

**A Bar**

The texts hadn’t stopped after that, but they’d significantly slowed over the next day.

The run-in with Dr. Pardus had apparently been enough to scare them a little, whoever it was, but it didn’t stop her worrying for Rosalie. Running a partial plate search had done nothing without resources from the police, who still didn’t seem to believe she was in serious danger, and she hadn’t been able to gather any more information about what apartment in the complex Rosalie was in. In fact, Rosalie had all but stopped responding to her texts with anything but pleas not to try and come to her because it was dangerous.

She still refused to tell her why.

Melody realized that she probably shouldn’t be going out alone under these circumstances, especially at night, but she didn’t even feel safe at her apartment. Being out in public at least made her feel slightly more protected. She made her way a few blocks through town to her favorite local bar, where she knew the bartender and most of the regulars. It was the spot she frequented to grade papers and treat herself to a meal on nights she didn’t want to cook, and possibly the place in the city where she felt the safest from anyone who might want to cause her trouble.

She bustled in and hopped up on her usual barstool without even looking at the menu, already feeling a little more at ease in the warm lighting and familiar atmosphere.

Before she could even speak, there was a glass in front of her.

“Mule for you,” the bartender said, sliding it her way.

“Thanks, Lenny.” Melody sighed, fishing for her wallet, but he waved her off.

“It’s already paid for. From the guy in the corner.” He tilted his head in the direction of the darkest corner of the bar, where a man with flyaway brown hair sat, a glass of whiskey in hand. When he noticed Melody looking, he raised the glass briefly, toasting her from across the bar. She echoed the gesture hesitantly before turning away, sipping her drink through the straw. Normally she didn’t accept drinks from other people, but she trusted Lenny not to drug her, and… Was he really a stranger at this point?

Sort of. Mostly? Not really.

Melody sighed and slumped as she took a sip of her drink. She wasn’t sure who he was, but he _wasn’t_ a professor. He also probably wasn’t out to get her, considering he’d stopped her from getting into whatever sketchy hired car that was the other day.

Melody picked up her drink and her bag, slipped down from the barstool, and walked slowly over to the back booth where he sat. She slipped into the booth on the opposite side, plunking her drink down on the table as he watched in silence, eyebrow raised. Clearly, he wasn’t about to make the first move.

“You’re… not a professor, are you?” she asked slowly.

“How long did it take you to figure that out?”

“Till about three hours ago, when I called the school and asked if they had any records of a ‘Dr. Pardus’ anywhere at all. I checked for you on the website, but I thought you might not be there because you were new.”

“Mm, that’s my own fault,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m on the border of too young to be a tenured professor and too old to plausibly be your average beginning graduate student, so I picked the one that I thought was less likely to cause a fuss.”

“So who are you, really?” Melody scanned over his facial features, his relaxed posture, his dark clothing. He certainly looked like someone she wouldn’t want to double-cross if she met them on the streets. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment, and she felt embarrassed to be the one who broke contact first, quickly becoming very interested in her drink.

“My name is Agent Vanderwood. I’ve been… somewhat indirectly assigned to keep you out of trouble,” he said slowly.

“I have a lot of questions and no idea in what order I should be asking them,” Melody said, nodding slowly. She rapped her fingertips on the table unconsciously, beating out an anxious rhythm against the dark wood.

“You get three.”

“What?!” she snapped, eyes going wide. He shrugged, taking another sip of his whiskey. It seemed to mean something like “take it or leave it,” and she wasn’t in a position to refuse any answers at all, even small ones. Melody sighed, wondering if this was how Aladdin felt trying to figure out his wishes when he got his hands on the genie’s lamp.

“Who assigned you to me?”

“The agency I work for assigned me to my current… partner. Of sorts. Keeping you out of trouble is helping to keep _him_ out of trouble.”

“Why would I be in trouble?”

“You’re looking for someone, aren’t you? I suggest that you _stop_. Lie low. Let the professionals handle it.” He sat his glass on the counter with a dull _clunk_ , glancing towards her expectantly. “One more question.”

Melody paused for a long moment. She only had one question left, so she needed to use it wisely, phrase it so that she could get the maximum amount of information out of him, but there was only one thing on her mind. She should be asking about him, about his credentials, about why he was trying to get close to her, about anything that would prove he wasn’t also some creepy, suspicious guy out to get her. However…

“What happened to Rosalie?”

“I’m not entirely certain, but we’re attempting to figure it out. For the time being, she is safe, and my partner is doing his best to keep it that way.”

“Who’s your partner?”

“You’ve used all your questions.”

Dammit. Melody sighed and shrugged helplessly, downing the rest of her drink. At least she knew that his goal _wasn’t_ to randomly kidnap her. That didn’t exactly make her feel comfortable, though. After a long moment, Vanderwood spoke again, a curious look in his gray eyes.

“Do you trust me?”

“No,” she scoffed. Not in a million years.

“Good,” he said with a pleased nod. “That means you’ve got at least a modicum of common sense.”

“As opposed to other people you’ve guarded?” Melody grimaced, leaning back in the booth with her arms crossed over her chest.

“As opposed to the friend you’re looking for,” he said bluntly.

Melody bristled for a moment, opening her mouth to speak, but almost immediately closed it. He was right, much as she hated to admit it.

“Rosalie is a good person, but she’s… Well, she’s too trusting. Believes the best in everyone, and she believes it unconditionally. This isn’t the first time she’s gotten herself in a pickle because of it, but this might be the biggest trouble she’s ever been in…” Melody murmured. “Wait, why am I telling you this?”

“You find the strong and silent type to be easy to talk to, and opening up to a mystery man in a bar seems oddly romantic,” Vanderwood deadpanned, taking a swig of his whiskey.

“Yeah, somehow you seem like the snide and sarcastic type rather than strong and silent.” Melody glared, but the man across from her flashed a small smile.

“Here.” He slid a small business card across the table. “In case you need me.”

“I thought you were _assigned_ to me,” Melody pointed out, but she took the card anyways. It was plain black with white print, sporting only two lines. The first said “Agent Vanderwood” and the second was a phone number, both in text so small that she had to squint to read it. He seriously needed to think about getting a better graphic designer. She tucked the card into her pocket, just in case she needed it later.

“I am, in a way, but only for the next few days. I _would_ have disappeared yesterday if it wasn’t for that car.” He seemed particularly annoyed by this, and she couldn’t tell if it was a response to her behavior or the fact that his assignment had been drawn out. In any case, Melody decided it was best not to acknowledge that.

“Well, thanks. I suppose. Even if I don’t really know who you are, who you’re working for, what my friend is doing, or if you’re actually the good guy that you seem to be implying that you are,” Melody said flatly, waiting to see what his response might be.

“Oh, trust me, Miss Pennick,” Vanderwood said, suddenly very serious, “I am not a good man. I promise that I will keep you safe. I do not promise how I will do that.”

Melody swallowed. Hard. The real danger of the situation suddenly pressed down upon her like a weight on her chest. There were actual secret agents. Actual people out there looking for Rosalie, who had only told her that she was stuck but safe somewhere. Actual people out there looking for _her_ , too, though she didn’t understand why.

“… I still don’t trust you,” she whispered.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

* * *

**Day 5: 12:10AM**

**Melody’s Apartment**

No doubt Melody was aware that he followed her back to her apartment. He wasn’t sure if it made her feel safer or more wary, but he didn’t particularly care. She didn’t need to know the details of the situation, and it was only because she’d so unceremoniously blown his admittedly feeble cover out of the water that he’d even given her any details at all. In his defense, he wasn’t meant to be on this assignment for more than a day or two, and he’d only agreed because he desperately needed 707 to catch up on his paperwork.

Vanderwood settled into his car for the night, laptop at the ready and typing away absentmindedly at his paperwork. The good thing about tailing a student was that it afforded him a few hours for sleep during the day, while she was attending classes and quite clearly around enough people that it would be a danger for anyone suspicious to approach her. By the time 707 managed to remotely hack into her phone and sent him the records of the suspicious text messages, he’d accepted she wasn’t working with the hacker. Really, he’d caught her just in time.

Unfortunately, Luciel had _not_ been able to track where the messages were coming from, which extended his observation duties by a day or two. The hacker’s text messages seemed to be slowing down, but his stunt from this afternoon had nearly blown his cover. Was it worth it? Debatable. Did he really believe that she wasn’t going to get into that car? Also debatable.

Against all odds, the girl did seem to have a good head on her shoulders. Smart, organized, _just_ suspicious enough to keep her on her toes. She’d even gone to the police, as Vanderwood thought any normal human being might do in that situation, which automatically placed her in higher favor than her poor trapped friend. He did feel bad for the tricked girl in Rika’s booby trapped apartment, but after 707 explained the story of how she came to be there, he still couldn’t understand why anyone would follow instructions from a stranger like that.

One thing was certain, though: the hacker wanted something, or whoever he was working for wanted something. Rosalie was potentially in a position to get it for them. He’d placed her there. He _chose_ her for some reason. What that reason was, there was no telling. However, knowing that Rosalie had a friend who knew where she was, even just the apartment complex rather than a number, put the hacker in a compromised position. In turn, this landed Melody in a compromised position, because now they might have someone to use as leverage.

If the texts died away and Melody stayed out of trouble for a few days, that might be all that came of the situation. They knew so little about who they were dealing with, though, that Luciel was of the opinion that it was better to be safe than sorry. Rosalie was protected due to the bombs and apartment security, but Melody was not. Though Vanderwood was certain he’d asked this only to appease Rosalie’s worry for her friend, he found that he didn’t mind so much when he was guarding someone with at least a little good sense. She’d kept her hand in her bag the entire way home, obviously holding onto a bottle of pepper spray. She didn’t walk alone with ear buds. Checked behind her periodically, stayed on well-lit streets. Didn’t trust him, which was… refreshing, not to mention helpful for the both of them. The last thing that he needed was someone clinging to his side while he tried to do his job.

The second to last thing he needed was someone dressed in black, hood pulled over their eyes, walking up the open air staircase up to the breezeway outside Melody’s apartment. From his parking spot, Vanderwood had an unobstructed view of the hallway outside her door, and an equally clear view of the hooded figure struggling with the lock on Melody's door.

“Shit,” Vanderwood whispered, opening the car door. Things were moving much faster than he expected. He checked the safety on his pistol and pulled it out of the holster, moving as quickly and quietly as possible towards the building and up the stairs.

* * *

**Day 5: 12:10AM**

**Melody’s Apartment**

The combination of alcohol and stress went to her head faster than she anticipated, but at least she made it to the bed this time. The shock of having a secret agent approach her at a bar certainly didn’t help her woozy mental state, and neither did the very large glass of wine she’d had after returning to the apartment. She slipped off her jeans and T-shirt and shrugged on a soft nightgown that Rosalie talked her into buying last time they went on a mall crawl.

_Fuck, Rosalie, how could you be this stupid…_

Melody groaned as she snuggled up under the covers, struggling to think against the alcohol-induced fog in her brain, but eventually she lost to worry and sleep. Hands clutching the comforter, she curled into herself as she submitted to a flood of dreams.

First she dreamed of Rosalie, and of running. They bounded down a forest path with a yellow bird and a white wolf, footsteps kicking up dust, never feeling winded in that strange way that running in dreams affords.

Then she dreamed of flying. Soaring through the skies like a phoenix, like a storm, in a storm… and then falling, falling, _falling_ down and hurtling towards the sea. She never hit the waves before the dream changed again.

Next she dreamed of hands, of a sharp pain in her arm, of struggling against a hold. She couldn’t tell where she was. She couldn’t tell what was happening.

She _wasn’t_ dreaming.

Melody’s eyes shot open, or as much as they could. Her vision was blurry and her head spun, but she could tell that someone was tying her up, a gag over her mouth and a rope around her wrists. She tried to struggle, but her muscles felt like lead, half disconnected from her brain. Not that her brain was functioning properly either— thinking felt like swimming through a thick, murky river, but the natural adrenaline response at least kept her fighting to stay awake. She couldn’t tell who was standing over her in the dark, but this wasn’t good. It couldn’t be good.

He threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, his grip on her bare thighs bruising.

“Don’t struggle. I’ll drop you.”

Melody tried to scream for help, but it came out as a dull whine. Struggle as she might, her vision was fading, and even the panic wasn’t enough to keep her present. What was happening? Who had her?

Where would she wake up?

“Put her down.”

She barely had time to register the sound of a gun cocking before a dull shot rang out. Ah, so there was a… what was it called? A muffler? A silencer? She couldn’t think. The person carrying her let out a dull groan, but began to run.

“Bad move.”

In seconds there was another dull groan, the world spinning around her as she toppled to ground. Melody dimly registered pain in her arm and shoulder where the skin scraped the pavement of the parking lot, wondering when they’d made it outside. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t think, didn’t know how much time had passed while she lay there. Her muscles still wouldn’t respond to her, no matter how many times she tried to push herself off the pavement. A cacophony of punches and shots sounded around her, but she couldn’t place them.

After an unknown amount of time, just when she felt ready to surrender to the sweet embrace of unconsciousness, Melody felt arms wrap around her, pulling her dead weight up from the ground as her head lolled to the side, felt the gag pulled aside, felt something draped over her shoulders.

“Melody? Can you hear me? Say something.”

The face in front of her eyes swam in and out of focus, but it was at least clear who it was. She couldn’t mistake that hair or that voice.

“Va…” she tried, collapsing against him, but failed to say anything more. She couldn’t tell what happened to the person who had tried to take her, and she wasn’t entirely certain she wanted to know.

“Stay awake,” he commanded, hoisting her up bridal style. Melody clutched onto the fabric of his shirt out of instinct more than anything, breathing in his scent as he quickly walked away from the parking area. “We’re getting you out of here.”

She tried to speak again, but the effort was futile. Vanderwood walked to the far side of the apartments, crossed the street, and unlocked a sleek, black vehicle. He carefully placed her in the passenger seat and pulled the seat belt across her lap, fastening it in place.

The last thing she remembered was the sound of the ignition, the sound of his voice once again calling for her to stay awake, and the sudden realization that she didn’t think she would be able to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to play around with an OC! Thanks so much for reading this far. I'm excited to get this story on the roll!


	3. In Which Melody Raids the Kitchen

**Day 5: 2:15AM**

**Agent 707’s Living Room**

“Ah, Mary, you’re— what the _hell_?!” Luciel asked, eyes going wide.

Vanderwood carefully shifted the woman in his arms, holding her close to his chest as he walked inside Agent 707’s massive home. Her skin was cool to the touch, even though she was wrapped in his coat for a little extra warmth besides only her thin nightgown. Though he’d told her to stay awake, she’d ultimately lost that battle sometime during the ride. Melody now slept soundly against him, and he knew it couldn’t only be the alcohol. There was a red spot on her right arm where someone had to have drugged her, but there was no telling with _what_.

“You know, I told you to tail her, not get lucky,” he said with a wry smile. Vanderwood scoffed.

“If lucky means fighting off a kidnapper and dragging a drugged woman to safety, then alright. I’m _lucky_ ,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’m putting her in the guest room next to mine until she wakes up.”

“Wait. You’re proposing she just stays here?” Luciel asked with a sigh. “It’s true we have the room, but is that a good idea? Considering our jobs?”

“Now you sound like me.” Vanderwood shook his head, but walked towards the guest rooms, anyways. “It’s a horrible idea. However, it’s the only one we have at the moment besides shipping her off to a safe house that’s so far away that we wouldn’t be able to help her if the hacker found her again. The other option is to put her in the apartment with Rosalie, but—”

“I don’t trust that the security systems wouldn’t see her as a threat, yes,” Luciel said, nodding.

“She stays here, then.” Vanderwood paused for a moment, glancing down at Melody’s sleeping form while Luciel took in the sight of her, looking pensive.

“So _that’s_ Melody. I pictured her…” He tilted his head back and forth, as if trying to put his finger on a description he couldn’t name. “I don’t know. Taller? Less scantily clad?”

“Forgive me, I didn’t have time to dress her unconscious body in proper clothes before leaving a compromised location.” He rolled his eyes, turning his back on Luciel. “Why don’t you tell the people on the messenger that she’s safe?”

“I’ll do it!”

“And get back to work, if you’re up this late.”

“Now, now, you know you can’t rush genius.”

“Hmph.”

He carefully carried Melody up the stairs to the second floor, hanging a right turn down the hallway until he reached the second guest bedroom. It was a little chilly up here, but they could adjust the heat later. For now, he placed their newest house guest gently on the bed, leaving his coat wrapped around her shoulders. She looked almost peaceful, for a drugged woman.

Vanderwood gave it a moment’s thought before he walked to the guest bathroom, returning with a clean cloth and a bottle of antiseptic. Her bare skin was scratched, bruised, and bleeding where she’d hit the pavement, but at least it didn’t seem like she’d sustained any head injuries. He gently wiped the blood and grit from the deeper scratches on her shoulder, elbow, and the side of her thigh. She could clean them more thoroughly when she woke. For now, she needed to sleep off the effects of whatever they’d drugged her with.

He should really take blood for a test, too, considering the unknown drug involved. At least the lab might be able to get back to them with some results by the time she woke up, if he pushed that it was important. It would be better to have at least a vague idea of what they’d injected her with than nothing at all. Throwing one last look over his shoulder, Vanderwood went downstairs to grab a blood test kit, hoping that it wasn’t more serious than a sleeping agent.

* * *

**Day 6: 8:23AM**

**Melody’s Bedroom**

Melody awoke with a pounding headache, feeling more than a little chilled, wrapped in a blanket that smelled of sage and… cigarettes? She opened her eyes blearily, squinting against the stream of light filtering in through the cracks in the blinds. The room was unfamiliar, looking something like a bare-basics guest room with a plain white comforter on the bed, a dresser, and pale green walls. Melody sat up slowly, pulling the blanket… No, no that was a _coat_.

 _Vanderwood’s_ coat.

Cigarette smell or no, it was warm and soft, so she pulled it around her shoulders securely, debating if she should try to leave the room or stay put. The panic in her chest said to leave, but ultimately the headache and the roiling nausea won out, and she sat back against the pillows, knees tucked to her chest.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to stay there for long. Only a moment later, the door opened, and a familiar form stepped inside. He was carrying something, but she couldn’t quite make out what.

“Ah, good. You’re awake. How do you feel?”

Melody squinted even at the light coming in from the hallway, shielding her eyes.

“Like I have the hangover from hell and the devil ran me over with a truck on my way out,” she muttered. Vanderwood gave a snorting laugh.

“Here. Take this,” he said, holding out a glass of water. After she took the glass, he pressed two pills into her hand. When she looked at him suspiciously, he held his hands up in surrender. “They’re painkillers. I’m not going to poison you. Clearly someone already tried that route.”

“You… saved me,” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes as what few memories she had of the night before came flooding back. Looking down, she could see a red spot on her arm. So she hadn’t dreamed that. Someone _drugged_ her! Melody groaned and swallowed the pills, downing the entire glass of water in only a few gulps.

“Do you trust me now?” he asked, watching as she plunked the empty glass on the bedside table.

“… No.”

Vanderwood smiled.

“Good. Follow me.” He tossed something made of silky black fabric towards her, and Melody barely caught it. A bath robe…?

 _Oh_. She looked down and blushed, embarrassed to be caught in nothing but her nightgown, fumbling with the robe until she could slip it on instead of the coat. It was far too big, but better than nothing, and it also smelled like cigarettes. Was… was it _his_? The thought made her a little self-conscious, but she followed him anyways.

Bare feet padded on plush carpet, and then down a smooth, wooden staircase. She had clearly been in one of many bedrooms inside a _massive_ house. The upstairs hallway was really more of a balcony looking down on a large, open concept first floor with a kitchen, living area, and what appeared to be an office space lined with computers. A redhead in a baggy jacket sat with his back to them, staring at a series of rapidly changing computer screens and typing like a madman at a keyboard.

“So… why did someone try and kidnap me?” Melody asked quietly, looking around the space in awe. She didn’t think she’d ever even seen a place this large from the outside, much less been inside one.

“Probably as a lure for Rosalie. If you went looking for her, they likely assumed she would go looking for you, or at least would be more willing to bend to their desires if you were in a hostage situation,” Vanderwood said with a shrug as they walked down the stairs.

“Oh,” she breathed, a cold chill running down her spine. So, she’d probably narrowly escaped a hostage situation. Fantastic.

“Luciel, our guest is awake,” Vanderwood said, calling out to the man sitting in the swivel chair. The redhead turned, looking at her with surprise over the top of his glasses.

“Oh, it’s you! How are you feeling? Rosalie won’t stop asking about you,” he said, standing from his chair. “I’m Seven, or Luciel. Whichever you prefer.”

“Melody,” she said vaguely, shaking his hand. “And I feel… not great, if I’m being honest, but better not great than kidnapped.”

“That’s the kind of attitude I like,” Luciel said with a smile. “I’ll let her know you’re alright.”

“Wait, stop, hold up: How do you know her? Why haven’t I ever heard of you? Why is she telling _you_ where she is and not me?!” Melody cried, gesturing wildly. Luciel looked towards Vanderwood, eyebrows raised.

“I’ve told her the bare minimum,” he said, taking a seat on the sofa. “She’s not the type to stop asking questions, though, so you’d better think up some coherent answers while I deal with a more pressing situation.”

“What _exactly_ is more pressing at the moment?” Melody asked, hands on her hips.

“Not dragging anyone else into this already overcomplicated situation,” Vanderwood said bluntly, pulling out a cigarette and gesturing to the space beside him. “Have a seat, dove.”

“Not if you’re going to smoke.”

“Can’t smoke in here, Mary,” Luciel said, wagging his finger. “I keep telling you that you need to quit.”

Vanderwood grumbled, but tucked the box of cigarettes back in his jacket. “Patches?”

“Side table. Top drawer.”

He reached over and opened the drawer of the end table, pulling out a box of nicotine patches. Melody took a breath and walked over to the sofa, curling up on the opposite end with her feet tucked under her. After Vanderwood opened one of the patches and slapped it on his forearm, grumbling all the while, Melody took the opportunity to speak.

“Mary?” she asked quietly, a tiny, amused smile on her face.

“Mary Vanderwood III,” Luciel said in a singsong voice. The man beside her only glared, cheeks flushing red for a moment, but he didn’t acknowledge the comment.

“Is there anyone who would go looking for you like you went looking for Rosalie?” he asked, threading his fingers together.

“Not if I give them a plausible excuse,” Melody said with a sigh. She sat back on the sofa, trying to think of who might look for her. “I should call my family, or at least email them. Tell them I lost my phone or something and I’ll only be available by email for a while. Rosalie obviously knows where I am. Uh… oh, _shit_. I should call into work and school, and probably say something to Zen.”

“Zen?” Luciel’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Like Zen… the _actor_? That Zen? You know him?!”

“Yeah, he’s the only other person who might make a fuss.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that will be a problem,” he muttered, adjusting his glasses and pulling out his cell phone. He dialed a number and handed it to Melody without further explanation. She hesitantly took the phone, holding it to her ear as it rang, but she wasn’t expecting the voice on the other end of the line.

“Hey, Seven, you okay? What’s happening over there?”

“… _Zen_?”

“Wait. You’re not Seven. Who is this? How did you get his phone?”

“It’s Melody. Melody Pennick?”

“… Mels, why are you calling me from 707’s phone?”

“Why are _you_ in contact with a secret agent somehow related to my best friend’s recent disappearance?”

“Holy shit…” Zen breathed. “You were looking for Rosalie? _She’s_ your best friend?”

Melody resisted the urge to put down the phone, glaring at Luciel and Vanderwood in turn as she spoke pointedly, her words clipped.

“Yes. And I think it’s about time someone gave me a _proper fucking explanation_.”

“Hey, Mels, can you put me on speaker? Might be best if we all pitch in for this one.”

That was how she wound up sitting on Agent 707’s sofa for an hour, listening to what they insisted was an abbreviated history of the RFA. Which, apparently, Rosalie had been recently inducted into… Though, not by choice. There was a hacker on the loose, probably some other secret organization involved, and now Melody was involved in everything as well. Oh, and Zen had been working with these people essentially the entire time she’d known him. It felt like her head was spinning by the time they’d finished, but not from the drugs this time. She still didn’t know anything about the agency that 707 and Vanderwood supposedly worked for, and the situation surrounding the RFA seemed complicated enough on its own…

“So, this is probably a bad time for me to have an epistemological crisis, right?” she asked with a sigh, leaning back against the sofa with her eyes closed. Zen assured her that everything was fine on his end and that he would cover for her at the theater, and then hung up to go to rehearsal. Now it was just the three of them again.

“Eh, there’s never a _good_ time for an epistemological crisis,” Luciel said with a shrug.

“Touché.” Melody just nodded.

“So, are you two sleeping together?”

“What?!” Melody and Vanderwood both responded at the same time, looking between each other and Luciel.

“It’s a fair question! He brought you here in a nightgown— a _very_ pretty nightgown, I might add— and you’ve been wearing his robe this whole time.”

“I have. No other. Clothes,” Melody said through gritted teeth.

“Oh. We should fix that, then.”

“I can pick up a few things from your apartment, if you’d like,” Vanderwood offered.

“Not sure how I feel about you going through my drawers,” she muttered.

“It’s that or stay in a nightgown, which I’m sure Mary here would be _fine_ with.”

Vanderwood just glared.

“Can’t I just go with you?” Melody asked.

“No.” Both men spoke at once.

“Okay. Fine. Yes, please, get me some normal clothes from my apartment,” she conceded, throwing her hands up in the air. She still wasn’t comfortable with the idea of a stranger digging through her belongings, but it was better than nothing if they didn’t plan to let her leave. Was this what other witness protection felt like?

“Right,” Vanderwood said with a nod. “I’m off, then. Call me if there are any problems. Luciel, make sure you get your paperwork done. Melody, make Luciel do his paperwork.”

“O-kay,” Melody said hesitantly.

In another moment, he was out the door.

“Does he always come and go like that?”

“Mostly.” Luciel moved back over to the swivel chair in front of the computers, spinning around once before he turned back to his work. “There’s a spare laptop by the desk upstairs. Feel free to contact your family— no one should be able to trace you from it. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thanks,” Melody said, turning to go and find the laptop. “Um… hey, is Rosalie okay? Like, emotionally?” Trapped in a bombed apartment wasn’t exactly the definition of “okay,” but she knew that the entire RFA was trying to get her out. Did she trust them or their motives? Not particularly, but there wasn’t another choice at this point.

Luciel turned back towards her for a moment, a small smile on his face. “She’s a real trooper. I don’t understand how she’s so positive all the time. It’s… really admirable.”

“I know, right?” She smiled, shoving her hands in the pockets of the bathrobe. “She’s great. Just… make sure she doesn’t take on too much. Check on her for me, please?”

“I will. Don’t worry.”

Something about his tone made her want to believe him.

* * *

**Day 6: 12:40PM**

**Agent 707’s Living Room**

“The only things in this kitchen are takeout containers and honey butter chips,” Melody said, gesturing helplessly to the cabinets. “What am I supposed to eat?”

“Chinese takeout or honey butter chips?” Luciel said with a shrug. “What’s wrong with that?”

Dear lord, was this how workaholics functioned? Not that she wasn’t a bit of a workaholic herself, but at least she remembered to eat and sleep properly. Vanderwood had been gone all day, and not only was she bored, but there was an odd sense of anxiety that came with having absolutely nothing to do. She’d sent all the necessary messages to her family, her school, and her workplace, and now… now she didn’t really know what to do but read. Thank goodness for kindle books that she could read on a borrowed laptop, too, because Luciel’s collection of computer manuals didn’t exactly make for top-tier entertainment.

She’d managed to stay out of his hair all morning, though. At least until her stomach started rumbling. Thus, she didn’t mind bothering him now, especially if this was his typical diet.

“Can I borrow your phone, please?” she asked, holding out her hand. Luciel fished in his pocket for a moment before he willingly handed over the device.

 

 **Me:** If I text you a shopping list, can you pick up groceries?

 **Vandy:** I am not an errand boy or a delivery service.

 **Me:** It’s Melody, not 707.

 **Me:** And it’s either you get groceries, I sneak out and put myself at risk in order to go get them myself, or we all die of lack of nutritional balance from eating nothing but chips and Chinese food.

 **Vandy:** Not convinced. You couldn’t get past security to get out, much less get back in.

 **Me:** I’ll cook for you two, too.

 **Vandy:** You’ve swayed me.

 

Melody smiled broadly at that, a tiny giggle slipping past her lips. At least she knew that he was weak for food now. Well… not that her cooking was top tier, but it would be better than eating nothing but takeout.

Grabbing a notebook and pen, Melody plopped down on a chair to write out a grocery list. If there was one thing that living alone did, it was make you good at meal planning. With luck, she wouldn’t need to be here for too long, but they might be able to make use of the food for longer.

_Let’s see… veggies, we need veggies. I could make chicken? But not fried. Nothing fried. Looks like they eat enough of that already._

After spending a good twenty minutes wandering around the kitchen, trying to locate what they had and did not have, Melody took a photo of her shopping list and sent it off to Vanderwood. It was enough to keep them settled for another week.

 

 **Me:** Thank you! <3

 

“Thanks, Seven,” Melody said, returning his phone. He looked down at the screen momentarily, tucked the phone in his pocket, and looked back at her with a shit-eating grin.

“So, you’re cooking tonight?”

“Man cannot survive on honey butter chips alone,” Melody said firmly, patting his shoulder.

“He’ll like that,” Luciel said, spinning back around to face the computer screens. “He likes you.”

“Really? I thought I was a nuisance,” she said with a snort.

“Nah, he’s just hard to read. You’ve known him for about five days now, right? Has he insulted your intelligence or your work ethic?”

“He said I had a modicum of common sense and I’m pretty sure he was spying on me while I worked all day in the library. So. No?” Melody said, shrugging.

“Yep. He likes you.” With that, Luciel suddenly spun around again, an inquisitive look in his eyes. “Hey, so… If I were to take a break, do you think you could tell me more about Rosalie?”

Melody bit back a grin. As much as his joking grated on her nerves, he seemed like a good person, and it seemed like he wanted to know about her out of a genuine interest rather than… Well, being a creeper. They’d had their share of mildly creepy boyfriends and bonded over it. Luciel didn’t seem to match that profile, for which she was grateful.

“I’ll make you a deal. I will regale you with stories about Rosalie if you eat something that isn’t honey butter chips on your break.”

Luciel looked positively scandalized. It didn’t take long before he heaved a melodramatic sigh and gave in, though. Clearly, he really wanted to hear about Rosalie. It was adorable, in a way.

“Fine,” he said with a huff. “Go get the egg rolls.” 

* * *

**Day 6: 6:23PM**

**Agent 707’s Living Room**

Vanderwood picked up the last load of grocery bags with a heavy sigh, walking from the garage and into the house. Melody’s list was surprisingly long, though he thought it had less to do with her own specifications and more to do with the fact that 707 kept absolutely nothing of use in his kitchen. Even the bread was molded, he noted as he watched Melody chuck the old loaf into the trash and put a new one in the bread box.

Along with the last load of groceries, he also sat a large, black duffel bag on the ground.

“I picked the clothes that I thought would be most useful or comfortable. The door was unlocked, but it didn’t look as though anything had been disturbed.”

He felt a little odd going through her personal belongings, which was strange considering that riffling through strangers’ belongings was a frequent part of his job as an agent, but perhaps he knew her just enough that she wasn’t _quite_ a stranger. In any case, he’d done his best to pick things that she might wear the most often and to… ah… go through her _delicates_ quickly. He’d also taken the liberty of snatching a toothbrush and a few things from the bathroom for her.

“Thank you so much.” Melody sighed with relief, immediately picking up the duffel. “I could honestly kiss you right now.”

Vanderwood blinked in surprise as she bustled off up the stairs, black robe flying out behind her just a little as she moved. A moment later he found himself still staring, watching the place where she’d disappeared around the corner and into her room. No doubt she was happy to out of her nightgown and borrowed robe, but wasn’t that a bit… much?

“She’s interesting, huh?” Luciel asked without looking away from the computer screens. Vanderwood jolted out of his thoughts, looking over at him for a moment before he shook his head, starting to unpack the groceries while she changed.

“I think I’ve just been away from the rest of the world for too long.”

It was better that way, really, in his line of work. Things were dangerous for him and dangerous for anyone involved with him. It was strange for him to be close to someone so normal, even tailing them or guarding him. He couldn’t remember the last time that someone had berated him about his eating habits, much less gave him requests for groceries. Most of his targets were just as dangerous as he was, or if not dangerous, highly influential people used to a different kind of lifestyle than Melody clearly lived.

Her apartment said more about her than most people’s homes ever said about themselves. There were pictures hanging all over the walls of her family, her friends, some posed for group pictures and some no more than silly, candid shots. Artwork of all shapes, sizes, and mediums dotted the walls where the pictures couldn’t quite cover everything— paintings, drawings, embroideries, even instruments hanging on the walls. Her furniture was mismatched, not even one chair the same design as the dining room table or the other chairs, but the longer he was around her, the more he had the feeling that she liked things that way. More personality, more practicality, less frivolous decoration subject to the changing whims of popular style. She may not wear her heart on her sleeve, but she’d plastered it on the walls of her home, and for the first time in a very long time, it made him wonder what kind of life he’d missed by turning to this kind of career.

At that moment, Melody walked back down the staircase, hair still up in that same messy bun, but now clad in shorts and a t-shirt. She immediately went back into the kitchen and started sorting out ingredients, placing some in the cabinets and setting some aside on the counter.

“When was the last time you cooked?” she asked, reaching for a large pan and a cutting board.

“I…” Vanderwood paused. He honestly didn’t remember the last time he’d cooked for himself. 707 had plenty of cooking supplies in his kitchen, and there were often cooking implements in hotel rooms, but he didn’t ever use them. Normally he felt too tired or too rushed to cook for himself, or for anyone else, for that matter. That was part of why he’d agreed to go shop for groceries in the first place, much as he was loathe to admit it.

Rather than wait for an answer, Melody just smiled softly and gestured to the freshly-washed bell peppers sitting out on the counter. “You think you could cut those up for me?”

He simply nodded and pulled a small knife from the knife block. It felt a little strange to be doing something other than paperwork at this hour, or talking to Luciel, or otherwise entertaining himself with no one to talk to… but… Luciel. A normal day might involve searching out a place to eat dinner or ordering food for himself while he reviewed instructions from the agency about the next day’s tasks. He could be off on the other side of the world in twenty-four hours, living out of hotels for months, so he hadn’t ever thought about things like planning meals or stocking groceries.

Well, he also hadn’t lived out of hotels for months or taken on too many world traveling positions since he was assigned to help keep Luciel on task, either. Most of his jobs were fairly local, within a few hours at most. He rarely left the country. It was just that he didn’t stock groceries because Luciel didn’t stock them, and after all, what kind of dangerous intelligence agent goes to the supermarket to buy milk as part of their day?

He looked to his right, catching a glimpse of where Melody mixed spices into a bowl of raw meat. Something about her looked so peaceful that it caught him off guard, almost made him uncomfortable.

“Do you cook often?” he found himself asking.

“I don’t have much of a choice,” she said, starting to separate the raw meat into individual balls. “It’s a lot cheaper than eating out all the time, especially on a grad school budget. I’m not a five-star chef, but I can manage simple stuff like this.”

It didn’t look simple to him. Not that he’d say that.

“What do you like to eat?” Melody asked. “I should have checked with you before I made the list, but I thought you both looked busy, so I picked some basic things.”

“I’m not particularly picky.” The rhythmic clack of the knife against the cutting board stopped for a moment as he brushed the first pieces of chopped peppers aside.

“Oh, you’re one of _those_ people.” Melody rolled her eyes. “Rosalie was, too, until I finally got her to open up and start requesting things. I’m just going to have to find out what you like, then. Good food makes all the difference.”

Vanderwood didn’t quite understand how food could make so much of a difference as long as it kept you alive and functioning, but he was willing to at least give it a shot.


	4. In Which Late Night Conversations Are Had

**Day 7: 7:45AM**

**Vanderwood’s Bedroom**

Towel wrapped around his waist, Vanderwood groggily opened the bathroom door.

His typical routine was to wake up, check his assignments briefly, and then to shower. He swung his legs out from the side of the bed, stretching for a moment before he stood. Wrapping a towel around his waist and brushing his unmanageable hair out of his eyes, Vanderwood typically opened the bathroom door, brushed his teeth, and showered before he did anything else with his day. Thus, he didn’t think anything of it when the bathroom door was closed, because who else would be here, using 707’s guest bathroom at this hour of the morning?

He heard the shriek before he fully registered the sight in front of him.

In his sleepy stupor, he’d completely forgotten that anyone else would be using the guest bathroom. So, when he opened the door, he wasn’t at all expecting to see Melody, wet and _very_ naked, having just stepped out of the shower. Her brown eyes went wide when she noticed him, and he was certain the look on his face couldn’t have been very different from hers.

“What the hell?!” she screeched, snatching a towel in a futile attempt to cover herself. Some sense of decency finally overrode the shock in his mind at that point, and Vanderwood had the good sense to stammer out an apology and turn away, quickly shutting the door behind him. He couldn’t keep the scene from replaying in his mind over and over as he scrambled back to his room, taking a seat at the edge of the bed.

Head in his hands, Vanderwood took a few deep breaths, suddenly feeling very awake. He would have to apologize to her later, but maybe after some of the shock had worn off. For someone so small, and with a face that made her look like a teenager some days, he hadn’t been expecting such a _womanly_ body. It should have been obvious after he held her so much the night she first came here, but that wasn’t the primary focus then. He could remember the feeling of her soft skin under his hands, her warm weight against his chest…

Oh, and now he _really_ needed a cold shower.

He wouldn’t get one, though.

He did his best to calm his breathing as he pulled on pajama pants and a t-shirt, slipping his robe over his shoulders. However, the robe didn’t particularly help, either, as it smelled a little less like cigarettes and a little more like _peppermint_ than he remembered. Letting out a groan of frustration, he resigned himself to the current situation and made his way downstairs.

Vanderwood walked downstairs, plopped down on the sofa, and immediately went for the nicotine patches. He was going to need them if this was how his day went. He opened his laptop and tried to focus on paperwork, but it didn’t last for very long.

“Careful. You might make Zen jealous,” Luciel called from the side of the room.

“Why’s that?” Vanderwood asked, scrunching up his nose.

“She hasn’t been responding to his flirting, apparently, and I may have let slip that there was a feminine shriek from upstairs…”

“ _Why_ would you do that?” he groaned, rubbing his temples. “You’ll have them all out to get me.”

“I thought it was funny.”

“ _She_ clearly didn’t.” He rubbed at his temples, squeezing his eyes shut, it was like there was a freeze frame in his mind of her body. Dammit, he was a professional! This shouldn’t be something that haunted him or even gave him trouble.

Maybe it was only that he wasn’t used to living with a woman. Surely that was it.

For now, he tried to focus on his paperwork, keeping his computer very firmly in place on his lap for the next hour, just in case Melody decided she felt like coming downstairs. He’d still need that cold shower at some point, but… later.

 

* * *

**Day 7: 2:56AM**

**Melody’s Bedroom**

The best thing about borrowing a computer? Being able to IM Rosalie.

She wasn’t an official part of the RFA, and the app couldn’t be loaded on a computer anyhow, but just being able to talk to Rosalie through secure IMs was enough to make her happy. It was strange not being able to talk to her, even for only a couple of days. Hell, they ate dinner at each other’s apartment once a week!

 

**MelodyTime713:** So, how are you really doing? Don’t lie to me.

**RosiePosie:** Not bad. Seriously. There’s food here, and I’m at least not lacking for entertainment.

**RosiePosie:** There’s a bomb under my feet, which is… not great.

**RosiePosie:** I trust 707 and the others to figure it out, though.

**MelodyTime713:** If you say so

**RosiePosie:** I know you think I trust people too easily

**MelodyTime713:** You do

**RosiePosie:** But I really think he’s got this well in hand

**MelodyTime713:** I hate to admit it, but you’re probably right. He seems like a good hacker and a good person so far… even if his eating habits leave things to be desired.

**RosiePosie:** … Can I ask you something?

**MelodyTime713:** Shoot

**RosiePosie:** Is he as cute as his pictures?

**MelodyTime713:** …

**MelodyTime713:** Uh, define… cute?

**MelodyTime713:** I mean, I guess he’s pretty handsome. Definitely not bad looking.

**RosiePosie:** [image]

**MelodyTime713:** Oh, yeah, that’s him.

**MelodyTime713:** Wait… you don’t

**RosiePosie:** … Don’t what?

**MelodyTime713:** Don’t tell me you have a crush on him.

**RosiePosie:** Wait, you don’t, too, do you?

**MelodyTime713:** NO

**MelodyTime713:** ABSOLUTELY NOT

**MelodyTime713:** Honey, I’ve known him all of one day. I’m just berating you for doing that thing you do where you fall in love really easily!

**RosiePosie:** …

**RosiePosie:** Okay, but… he’s cute. And nice. And smart.

**MelodyTime713:** His jokes grate on my nerves a little

**RosiePosie:** Really? I thought he was funny

**RosiePosie:** So, are you just, like, around him all day?

**MelodyTime713:** Well, him and Vanderwood, but Seven mostly works and Vanderwood is in and out all the time.

**RosiePosie:** Vanderwood? You mean the maid?

**MelodyTime713:** Maid? Uh, no. He’s another agent

**RosiePosie:** … Seven definitely said Mary Vanderwood was the maid. And female.

**MelodyTime713:** I mean, I won’t deny that he does most of the cleaning around here, but Vanderwood is absolutely an agent and ABSOLUTELY a man.

**RosiePosie:** Really? What’s he look like?

**MelodyTime713:** He’s…

 

She paused, thinking back to that morning’s incident in the bathroom. Granted, she was partly in shock from attempting to cover her own nakedness (he’d seen it all, though, she was sure), but she hadn’t missed the towel hanging low around his hips, the toned muscles, the strong arms…

 

**RosiePosie:** Mels? You there?

**MelodyTime713:** Well, he’s tall and he has nice eyes. Kind of long brown hair.

**RosiePosie:** Oh, hoho

**MelodyTime713:** What the hell is that?

**RosiePosie:** He’s your type, isn’t he?

**MelodyTime713:** … what is it with you and romance during potentially life-threatening situations?

**RosiePosie:** Hey, if not now, then when?!

**RosiePosie:** But back to the subject at hand. Is he your type?

**MelodyTime713:** What does that even mean?

**RosiePosie:** You already said he’s got long hair, so that’s a check. Is he also broody and staggeringly intelligent?

**MelodyTime713:** I mean… not… staggeringly

**RosiePosie:** So that’s a yes, and that means he’s broody, too. Sounds like someone found herself a catch.

**MelodyTime713:** Rosalie, I don’t have time for love.

**RosiePosie:** If you keep saying that, then you really never will.

**RosiePosie:** Just think about giving it a shot?

**MelodyTime713:** With a secret agent? Is that seriously the best idea you’ve got?

**RosiePosie:** Hey, you never know

**RosiePosie:** Besides, didn’t Seven say that he walked in on you this morning? How was THAT?

**MelodyTime713:** I cannot believe he’s narrating my life to a chat full of people I don’t know.

**RosiePosie:** I think Zen nearly combusted

**MelodyTime713:** *sigh* Zen is a dork and I love him dearly

**RosiePosie:** I think you’re the only person who would dare call him a dork

**MelodyTime713:** I can’t help it. He’s a dork

**MelodyTime713:** Also, I’m going to bed. I know we don’t have a very normal schedule now, but it’s late and my head kinda hurts

**RosiePosie:** Okay! Sleep tight!

 

Melody just sighed, shaking her head. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to sleep, despite being truthful about her headache and wanting to go to bed. Even though she was safer here than at the apartment, sleeping in an unfamiliar place never went well, and she’d spent most of the previous night tossing and turning. Melody crept downstairs in her pajama shorts and a fitted tank top, thankful that Vanderwood had thought to bring her more reasonable pajamas.

It was well into the wee hours of the morning, and she’d really just intended to get a glass of water, but when she came down the stairs, she was surprised to see Vanderwood sitting on the sofa, typing away on his laptop. He looked completely focused, so she didn’t want to bother him, but it probably wasn’t healthy for him to be working this late. Even 707 had taken a break to get a few hours of sleep, albeit after some prodding.

“Can’t sleep?”

Melody jumped, clutching onto the stair rail a little more tightly.

“No, not really,” she admitted, resuming her trek down the stairs and into the kitchen. She put water in the kettle and set it to boil, thankful she’d asked for some tea from the grocery store as a small comfort to herself. “Can I get you anything while I’m up?”

“No, thank you.”

Melody leaned against the counter looking over towards where Vanderwood sat. There was a half-empty bowl on the side table, and every now and then he would pause to eat a few bites from it. She blinked, taking a few steps forward, slightly offended that he hadn’t been honest about his opinion of her cooking, when she suddenly realized… that was what he was eating?

“So you really did like the curry, huh?” she asked, a little amazed.

“I hate to admit it, but you were right. Good food makes all the difference in the world.” He took another bite of the rice and curry while Melody kept one eye on the kettle.

“Where’s Seven?” she asked absently. Normally he was down here working at absolutely unpredictable hours.

“He said there was trouble at the apartment, so he went to go check on a security threat.”

“WHAT?!” Melody cried, clenching her hands into fists. “I was _just_ talking to her a few minutes ago. Why didn’t she say something?”

“I can’t answer that. She might not know, or she might not want to worry you.” Vanderwood turned away from his laptop to look towards her, expression strangely soft. “He might be constantly behind on his work, but Luciel clearly cares for her. He _will_ take care of it.”

“Great,” Melody said with a sigh. “That’s… fantastic.”

On the contrary, it was far from fantastic, but she couldn’t bring herself to blabber that out to Vanderwood. She was supposed to be helping Rosalie, and now she was just stuck as an extra casualty in an already overcomplicated situation, staying in a house that wasn’t hers for who knew how long. They also had absolutely zero information on the mysterious hacker as of now, though apparently whatever party they were planning was going well. So… at least one upside to the situation? Assuming they got Rosalie out in time for the party.

When the water was boiling, Melody took the kettle off the stove, filled a mug, and dropped in a teabag. She thought about going back up to her room, but being down here with Vanderwood actually felt preferable for now. She curled up on the opposite side of the sofa, staring at the blank wall across the room as she waited for her tea to cool, the same thoughts turning over and over in her head: helpless, useless, a burden, a disaster. A walking contradiction who just can’t quite get her life together.

“If you’re going to sit and stew, at least do it out loud,” Vanderwood said, not looking up from his paperwork or ceasing to type at a blinding speed. “It’s distracting to wonder what you’re worrying about.”

That was oddly kind, she thought, in his own way.

“Do you ever feel like you’re a side character in your own life?” Melody asked slowly, tucking her knees to her chest as she held her mug with both hands. Vanderwood’s typing paused and he looked over, brow furrowed in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Like… your life isn’t really about you. It’s about someone else. Or maybe it _is_ about you, but you just don’t have the right personality type or the right choices or the right circumstances to be the hero.” She sighed and took a sip of her tea, swearing when she realized it was still _far_ too hot. “Sorry, that probably sounds like a totally insane byproduct of me feeling completely helpless right now, which it probably is.”

“Not insane. Maybe _inventive_ , but I understand the sentiment,” he said slowly, turning to fully face her. “Though, I feel I should ask who you think the main character is.”

Melody opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“I think it changes. I guess at one point in my life I felt like it was my older sister, and at other times it felt like Rosalie. I just… I guess I feel like I don’t have the disposition for that role.” She took a very, very careful sip of her tea and was pleased to find that it had cooled, relaxing a little into the sofa. “I feel like the world is looking out for someone who’s this… kind and caring beam of sunshine. Snow White type. Ethereal, and happy, and forgiving, and maybe at one point in my life I could be that, but now I don’t think I can.”

“It sounds to me like you want to feel special every now and then,” Vanderwood said with a shrug and a sigh, going back to his typing.

“Yes,” Melody said, but then immediately scrunched up her nose. “No. Not… like that. It’s just, I used to think everyone was special, and then I thought no one was special, and then I met Rosalie and realized that for the first time in my life, I thought I’d actually met someone who was _genuinely_ a special person. And I want to be that, not because she’s special, but because she’s good. Really good, and kind, and she has this weird faith in humanity that I don’t know how it’s possible to even attain.”

“And you?”

“I hate most of the world and I hate that I do. I hate that I feel like I can’t fix anything, and that I’m small and stupid, and that no matter how hard I try and be a sunbeam, it won’t matter because someone out there will still be hurting.” Melody sighed, staring off into middle space as she spoke quietly, numbly. “And I hate that instead of trying to reach out and do what I can anyways, it just makes me selfish.”

It took her a moment to notice that he’d stopped typing again.

“Are you _certain_ you’re not drunk?”

“It’s three in the morning,” Melody said helplessly. “It’s as close to drunk as you get while still theoretically sober.” She unfolded her legs from beneath her and stood from the sofa, taking her tea with her as she walked towards the staircase.

“Goodnight, Vanderwood. Get some sleep eventually, please.” Both hands clasped around her mug like a lifeline, she made her way back up the stairs. If she couldn’t sleep, she’d at least be able to curl up in her room for the time being and get a little mental rest. Maybe.

Vanderwood called out behind her as she walked away.

“Goodnight, Melody. No promises.”

* * *

**Day 8: 11:33PM**

**Agent 707’s Living Room**

Seven was staying at the apartment, or so his email said.

Actually, the email was quite long, containing a detailed update from Rosalie about the hacker situation, which had just become even more convoluted than they previously feared. Who _really_ had a mysterious twin brother? Like, in real life, how often did that happen? Melody was starting to think that she was stuck in some kind of bad slice-of-life anime with no way out, and she was the plucky best friend who ended up sad and illustrating the moral of the story in place of the heroine.

She tried not to think about that too much. Besides, it was silly to worry about endings and outcomes at this point. All you can ever do is the best you can with what you know.

Melody had figured out that her research skills were useful, though. Since she had a laptop and contact with Luciel, she’d been using what she knew about hunting down information to help with locating his missing twin brother. Though he didn’t want to talk about their history, quite understandably, he’d let slip a few details that Melody was able to work with. It helped to ease the burden on his workload to have her check the harder-to-find legal ways of getting information while he worked his magic in the bowels and back corners of the internet, or so he said.

Vanderwood was gone all day and hadn’t come back for dinner, though she’d put his portion of tonight’s meal in the refrigerator for him, should he want it. It was late by now, and she was starting to feel a little concerned, but he hadn’t responded to any calls from the burner phone that Luciel left her, so she wasn’t quite sure what to do besides keep calling.

Just as she was about to try to get a hold of him again, the locks on the security door buzzed open, and a familiar figure quite literally stumbled through. He fell to his knees as soon as she door shut behind him, collapsing with alarming speed.

“Oh, god, Vanderwood!” Melody half shrieked, stumbling as she rushed over, sinking to her knees beside him.

He groaned as she gently turned him onto his back, checking for signs of fever or injury or _holy motherfucking shit was that blood on his shirt?_ Melody’s hands shook as she pulled at his dark clothing, brushing his coat to the side and tugging open his shirt to reveal a series of slashes and gashes across his chest, and there was no telling where else he might be wounded.

“I would appreciate if you did not strip me without my consent,” he groaned, wincing as he tried to sit up. Melody put an arm under his back to help support him.

“What happened to you?” she asked, completely ignoring his directions as she searched him for injuries. Several deep gashes across his arms and torso proved to be the cause of the blood, though she couldn’t tell if any of them looked dangerously large or close to vital organs.

“A mission went south. I’m lucky to be alive.” He didn’t provide any more details, and Melody didn’t think it wise to as for them.

“How much blood have you lost?” Melody whispered, eyes flicking between his face and his injuries.

“I’ve been in worse shape.”

“That’s not what I asked,” she snapped. A cursory inspection showed that some of his largest wounds looked like they might need sutures, but it seemed to be largely superficial damage and exhaustion. “Come on, this way.”

She slipped her arm around him, disregarding the blood and the fact that he was much, much taller and heavier than she was, and guided him to the kitchen, forcing him to perch on a low barstool while she scrambled around for the first aid kit that Luciel kept, of all places, under the sink. It only took a step or two to notice that he was also limping. She could ask about that later.

“Take your shirt off,” she said bluntly, still rummaging through cabinets.

“I can handle this myself. I’ve done it on my own many times,” he grumbled, but did as she asked. Melody plopped the box of first aid supplies unceremoniously on the counter, digging through it for antiseptic and bandages. She glanced over at Vanderwood’s bare upper body and winced. The injuries weren’t life-threatening, but they looked painful. Melody glanced down at his left ankle, which she hadn’t noticed before due to all the blood and gashes on his torso.

“Yeah, well, you’re not on your own. I’m here. What happened?”

“You don’t happen to have a long pair of tweezers, do you?”

Melody pressed her hand against her eyes. “You’re not about to tell me that you need to extract a bullet because someone shot you, are you?”

“Alright, I won’t tell you.”

Melody glared, but Vanderwood seemed utterly unaffected. Shaking her head, she pulled a saucepan from the cabinet and dumped two curved needles and a pair of tweezers into it. After that, she filled it with water and sat it on the stove to boil.

“If you weren’t injured and clearly still losing blood right now, I’d kill you myself,” she grumbled, shoving a clean dishtowel into his hands. “Staunch the bleeding. I’ll be right back.”

Her hands shook as she grabbed clean washcloths from the bathroom, continued to shake as she filled a bowl with clean water and antiseptic, and only stopped once she was halfway finished cleaning the blood from his skin and the area around his wounds.

“Everything is sanitized now,” she said warily, finally breaking the silence. Once the water was cool enough to reach into, Melody washed her hands and removed the needles and tweezers from the pot, placing them on a clean paper towel.

“Don’t worry, I can take it out myself,” Vanderwood said flatly, reaching for the long tweezers. He winced as he bent to roll up his pants leg.

“You’ll reopen your wounds, you idiot,” Melody snapped, snatching the tool from him. “Just… just tell me how and I’ll remove it.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. Just stay still and let me handle it.” Melody shook her head and walked to the refrigerator, snagging a bottle of vodka from the door shelf and shoving it into his hands.

“This is for…?”

“Pirate-style anesthesia,” she said flatly. “We don’t exactly have a local anesthetic, so you get vodka.”

“Better than nothing,” he said with a shrug, uncapping the bottle and taking a long drink without preamble. “ _Can_ you sew sutures, by the way? I didn’t miss that needle you just dropped in the pot.”

“Yes. I mean, I’ve admittedly never done it on a human body, but you don’t have a lot of choice with this slash on your back…” Melody bit her lip as she eyed one of the deeper wounds, a large, bloody gash from a knife across his left side and part of his back.

“Something tells me I’ll need the alcohol for this,” Vanderwood said with a resigned sigh.

It took another half an hour of vodka, stitching, bickering, and bleeding, but she did manage to remove the bullet with as much ease as a relatively squeamish person might be able to. Melody also stitched up the bullet wound and some of the larger gashes across his arms and torso. She lost track of the number of stitches somewhere around ten or twelve, or maybe she’d just stopped counting because each time the number went up, it felt like a shock to her own heart.

“Who the hell did this to you?” she murmured unconsciously, thinking out loud more than anything. Her hands ghosted gently across his skin as she wrapped him in clean bandages, lingering just a little too long on his shoulders. Melody traced over the bandages with her eyes, not realizing how close she was until she felt his hand on her cheek, gently running his knuckles across her skin. She unconsciously echoed the gesture, brushing his unruly hair away from his face as she shyly glanced towards him.

“Melody,” he said softly, tilting her face upwards to look at him. He was so close that their breaths mingled, that she could feel the heat from his body. “Don’t worry about me. I’m alive. I’ll manage.”

“How am I supposed to not worry about you when you come back like this?” she rasped, swallowing the tears that caught in her throat and pricked at the corners of her eyes.

Vanderwood simply reached out and pulled her into his arms. She hugged him as fiercely as she dared, hyper aware of the fact that her hands were red with his dried blood, that she was the one bandaged his wounds. Suddenly confronted with the feeling of just how much she really did want him, Melody wasn’t sure how to respond, considering that she was also suddenly and horribly aware that he wouldn’t be able to have something like this in his line of work. She held him anyways, though, wanting to enjoy the delusion for as long as she could have it.

It was stupid and ridiculous and completely silly to be this attracted to a person that she met only a week ago, but she was. Something told her that after this, she wouldn’t be able to berate Rosalie for becoming infatuated with people so easily.

“You’re a bleeding heart after all, aren’t you?” he murmured, breath tickling her skin as he cradled her against his chest.

“Only sometimes.”

“No, dove, I think you bleed for everyone. You’re just better at hiding it when there’s a job to be done.”

Melody stiffened slightly.

He was right. How the hell was he _right_? How could he even tell something like that when she was barely aware of it herself? She stepped away slowly, and Vanderwood slipped off the chair, standing to his full height. It felt like her head was spinning, and she didn’t like that someone could so easily see through her carefully constructed defenses. Maybe she’d just been talking too much the past several days.

“Here, let me help you.” She slipped an arm around him, her body pressed against his bare torso. Though she was much shorter than him, she could still help stabilize him while he limped up the staircase.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, but he leaned on her anyways.

At the top of the stairs, they turned to the right, going one door past Melody’s room. She’d never seen the room he stayed in here, but wasn’t surprised to find that it, too, was bare of personal items. Secret agents weren’t really the type to keep memorabilia, she imagined. At the threshold, she gently extracted herself from his grip and moved away.

“Let me know if you nee—” Melody cut off slightly, breath hitching as she looked up at him. He was so close. _Too_ close, and even while injured he made her heart race. “Need anything,” she finished in a whisper.

“One more thing,” he breathed. She stayed still, caught like a deer in the headlights under his gaze, as Vanderwood slowly brought his hand up to cup her jaw, leaning down just slightly as Melody looked up. Her heart beat like a jackhammer, eyes wide and gaze moving from his eyes to his lips and back again. She didn’t dare move for fear she might be misinterpreting him, daring to let her eyes flutter slowly closed as he came nearer and nearer.

The first touch was soft, fleeting, just a gentle, lingering press of his mouth to hers. Melody leaned forward, chasing his touch, her hands slowly tracing along his bare skin as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Vanderwood moaned into the kiss, roughly pulling her towards him at the slightest sign of reciprocation. The hand on her jaw moved to tangle in her hair, holding her in place while his free arm wrapped around her waist, pressing her flush against him. Melody gasped at the sudden sensation, and he took advantage of the moment to explore her mouth with his tongue.  

The hand on her waist slipped under the hem of her shirt, his warm touch wandering across the small of her back as his kisses only grew harsher. A moan slipped from her throat as he took her lower lip between his teeth for a moment, moving to pepper kisses along her jaw, to suckle at her earlobe as the hand wandering beneath her shirt _just_ brushed against her bare breast.

“Va— _Vanderwood_ , ahh…” She arched into his touch, clinging onto him like a lifeline, but something about her voice seemed to snap him out of the moment. He jumped back as if burned, shaking his head, but when he spoke his voice was husky and his eyes were dark.

“If you want, you can blame the vodka for that in the morning,” he rasped, knuckles trailing across her cheek one more time before he backed away and closed the door.

Melody backed up against the opposite wall, sinking to the floor of the hallway. She took in the blood on her hands, the ghostly sensation of his kisses against her lips, the dizzy swirl of thoughts in her mind… There was no telling what was a good idea or a bad idea any longer, but she knew for sure that if things had kept going, she would absolutely have let him do anything he wanted to her.

She wanted to know him. She felt like she did know him, even after such a short time, which was a mistake in itself. He was a secret agent. There was no telling who he really was or what he presented to the world.

“I’m in deep shit,” she whispered, nodding.


	5. In Which There Are Doves

**Day 9: 10:14PM**

**The Far Side of Town**

Vanderwood went out that evening on his own, looking for some kind of reprieve for the buzzing thoughts swirling around in his mind. He felt tense and distracted at 707’s home, and he didn’t dare admit to himself why. At least, not until he was far, far away.

It was late, and he hadn’t been to the house since early that morning, before the sun rose. He’d resisted the urge to open the door of the room next to his, to peek inside and see the person lying on the bed, sound asleep. Instead, he’d jumped back from the knob as if it burned, gathered his things, and left the house as quickly as possible.

He couldn’t get that image out of his head, couldn’t get _her_ out of his head. That expanse of smooth skin and soft curves haunted him, the water dripping down her hips and her breasts, wet hair clinging to her skin. He wanted to touch her, run his hands over her, feel her pressed against him… and he was certain it was just another itch.

It had to be. Any functioning human had a sex drive, and it had just been too long for him. Melody would be safe at the house for the evening even without Luciel there, but for now, he needed to get this out of his system before he did something rash.

Like last night.

The sound of her sweet moans in his ear haunted his dreams. He blamed the vodka, but that was just an excuse. There was nothing special about her, he thought. Nothing that should make her stand out more than anyone else, and it was never a good idea to be romantically involved with a target. That was practically rule number one: no connections, no attachments, no involvements that people could potentially use against you, and never, _never_ get your personal feelings tied up in a case.

That was how he wound up at a bar on the other side of town, far from anywhere he’d tailed Melody, far from anything he associated with her or anywhere he’d seen her go. It was a seedy place, but he’d been there before. There was always someone looking for a companion for the night, and he felt very little shame in doing so now. It was just an itch, something he needed out of his system, and it wasn’t as though he could use one of those apps to find himself a hookup. After all, what was he supposed to write? “I’m a secret agent. You never saw me, and you won’t see me again?”

Certainly not.

Vanderwood placed an order at the bar and found a table in the back, carefully looking over his options. Some of the women were obviously drunk already, so they were out of the question. Others were obviously there with a partner. He needed sober and at least _relatively_ sane-looking. A tall, blonde woman sitting alone at a corner booth caught his eye, but something about her seemed too put-together, too poised. Vanderwood couldn’t help but question what exactly he was looking for. Poised and put-together was his usual type, but tonight he found his eyes wandering, his mind wandering.

There was a pretty, dark-haired girl at the bar that kept looking over at him with a flirtatious smile. He supposed she would do.

They exchanged the usual token flirting, the glances, the innuendos. Her painted lips formed a sly smile, and he moved just a little closer, testing the boundaries of his welcome. Clearly, they were both experienced at this kind of dance, and it didn’t take long before they found themselves outside the bar, headed for a hotel. At some point, Vanderwood was positive that he’d asked her name, but he didn’t remember it five minutes later.

Her fingers were talented, searching out everywhere that made him shudder and groan as he did the same, responding to her throaty moans and scratching nails. She kissed like it was calculated, like she knew exactly what to do and where to touch to get what she wanted. Most nights when it came down to excursions like this, that kind of touch was what he craved. This was what he _wanted_. However, he couldn’t help but think it felt a little hollow.

He kissed her harder to try and banish the thought, and she responded in kind, aggressively slipping her tongue into his mouth and running her hands down his sides, slipping them under his coat and tugging at his shirt. She didn’t gasp, didn’t sigh, didn’t make the little unconscious mewling noises that he craved to hear from _her_ lips, didn’t tremble like _she_ had when he tugged her close.

_It doesn’t matter. Focus on the situation at hand. Focus on the warm body next to you._

And then her hand brushed over his stitches, stitches that _Melody_ had sewn, that _she_ would have avoided or touched with care, and he couldn’t take it any longer. Vanderwood broke away with a gasp, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry. I have somewhere to be,” he said curtly.

He snatched up his discarded shirt and coat, adjusting his clothing as he left the hotel more quickly than he’d entered it. As he marched back to his vehicle, Vanderwood realized he only felt more tense than before. This was supposed to _help_ his frustration, not make it worse.

The only logical explanation, of course, was that it wasn’t just an itch. He wasn’t ready to accept that, though.

The road back to the house was long enough that the itch only became worse. He couldn’t keep his thoughts on track, didn’t know what he was thinking about, tried not to think about the person no doubt soundly sleeping in the room next to his. It didn’t work. Nothing worked, and he didn’t understand why.

He called 707 to check on the situation at the apartment just to distract himself, but even Luciel said it sounded like there was something wrong. Vanderwood shrugged him off, for the most part, trying to redirect the conversation towards Rosalie and the bomb.

“So why are you out this late? Don’t you have a pretty girl you’re supposed to be guarding?”

“There’s certainly a woman driving me insane at your home.”

“… In like a sexual way?”

Vanderwood made a noise that was half growl and half frustrated groan.

“So that’s a yes.”

“ _Goodnight_ , Luciel.”

“Goodniiiiight,” he said in a singsong voice. “Enjoy having the house all to yourselves.”

Vanderwood hung up without another word. Perhaps calling Luciel for a distraction hadn’t been the best idea. He drove the rest of the way to the house in silence, trying to keep his thoughts on the road, the car, the feeling of the wind in his hair and the wheel under his fingers, anything but the last few hours. Anything but that bar. Anything but her.

He pulled into the garage and exited the vehicle as quietly as possible, expecting to see an empty living area with the lights off as he came inside. However, the sight that greeted him was both much more pleasant and much more unnerving than he expected. Melody was seated on the sofa, curled up and reading off her borrowed laptop. Her pajama shorts seemed… shorter than he remembered, tank top exposing more skin. He could see the outline of a constellation tattoo on her back, a sun and stars that started at her shoulder and spread out across her skin, and he itched to run his fingers across it.

“You’re back late,” Melody said quietly, without looking up from her laptop. “I was worried.”

“I didn’t know you were my keeper,” he snapped, sharper than he meant to be. Melody stared at him with her mouth hanging open, obviously hurt.

“Well, I’m _sorry_ for waiting up for you because you wouldn’t answer your fucking phone and you came back to me covered in blood yesterday,” she said tersely, snapping the laptop closed. She left it on the sofa and marched up the stairs.

“Melody, wait—"

“No.” She shook her head, not even bothering to look back at him.

His shoulders slumped as the sound of her bedroom door slamming shut echoed through the house.

Adrenaline still buzzing through his veins, Vanderwood made his way up the stairs, already taking off his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt. A sinking, slithering sense of guilt settled in his stomach, but he wasn’t sure why. He hadn’t done anything to feel guilty for, had he?

Of course, he’d snapped at Melody when he shouldn’t have. But he shouldn’t feel bad for seeking out willing sexual satisfaction when there wasn’t anything between them…

The hurt look on her face flashed through his mind’s eye as he chucked his clothing in the laundry basket, eager to rid himself of anything that smelled like a bar or that woman had touched. He didn’t even notice his appearance until he took off his watch, catching a glimpse of his appearance in the mirror above the dresser as he set it aside for the night.

There was a smear of dark lipstick across his mouth.

_Shit._

* * *

**Day 10: 9:24AM**

**Melody’s Bedroom**

This was one of the only mornings that she’d ever woken up feeling a little hungover without having any alcohol the night before. Melody rolled over and snuggled back under the blankets, determined to avoid the morning until she absolutely had to get up. She’d spent the last hour in a drowsy state of dozing, hoping that Vanderwood might leave for the day before she got up.

Her heart ached, and she hated it.

How could she have been so stupid to think that someone she’d just met really liked her? Really found her attractive? Really wanted her? No, it was just the vodka and the sex drive and that was it. He made that very clear when he came back last night with smears of red lipstick across his mouth, along his jaw… down his neck…

Melody squeezed her eyes shut as her stomach roiled. Stupid. She’s been stupid, but at least she only had to hold on for another day. She had permission to leave and go shopping with Zen tomorrow morning, as long as she didn’t go anywhere alone, so there was only one more day left here. If she could avoid him for that amount of time, then things would be fine.

However, a soft knock on her door confirmed that her desires weren’t in the cards.

“May I come in?”

“I suppose,” Melody said with a sigh, pulling the blankets a little closer. Her back was to the door, and she didn’t bother turning around. It felt childish, but that was alright. If he planned on acting like she was dispensable, then she could act a little like a child.

She could hear the door open and the sound of soft footsteps on carpet, feel the shift in the mattress as he perched on the edge of her bed.

“Melody…”

It wasn’t enough to make her look at him. It wasn’t only anger— it was pain, embarrassment, the feeling of being truly alone. She thought he might have understood her. She thought that _she_ understood _him_. He reached out to gently touch the bare skin of her shoulder, and Melody flinched. It made her feel ridiculous, considering how badly she’d wanted to be close to him, but he didn’t pull away even after she shrank into herself. His fingertip traced along her skin, and she realized he was tracing her tattoo.

“I’m sorry, dove,” he said quietly.

“For what? Coming back late or…” she trailed off. Kissing her while drunk?

“Everything.” Vanderwood continued to trace over her tattoo, drawing lines between the stars, and she felt herself slowly relax into his touch. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You’ve been kind to try and care for me.”

Melody bit her lip, letting the words sink in. He sounded sincere, and she wanted to believe him. She slowly rose to a sitting position and turned to face him, surprised to see him in casual clothing— a plain, white t-shirt and jeans— rather than his black work ensemble.

“How are your stitches feeling?” she asked, reaching out towards one of the slashes on his arm that needed three.

“I don’t have that many of them,” he grumbled, but she noticed how he seemed to relax a little when she touched him.

“Well, how is _all of you_ feeling?”

“Like an ass.” A pause. “An ass with a serious hangover.”

Melody sighed and shook her head, pushing away the blankets.

“Come on. You clearly need caffeine.”

Melody didn’t drink coffee, Vanderwood brewed himself a cup and put the kettle on the stove for her while she cooked breakfast. Well, at this time of day, it was more like brunch, but that was alright. Omelettes were good for the soul no matter when you ate them.

“No field work today?” she asked, flipping the eggs. Melody did her best to frame the question casually, but in truth, she was worried. First the wounds, then the… the lipstick stain. It seemed like he was bound for a pattern of self-destructive behavior, and it worried her.

Why should she be worried? She barely knew him.

However, Melody knew the truth. She really was a bleeding heart.

“Not today. They won’t put me out into the field for a while after the results of that last mission, so it’s all paperwork for me.”

Thank goodness. She did her best not to look too relieved, but likely failed. Eyes trained on the eggs and fumbling for something to say, Melody wound up blurting out the first question that came to her mind.

“What would you do if you didn’t work for the agency?”

And immediately regretted it.

Was that too much? Too personal? Too soon? Did she care? After this week was over, she probably wouldn’t see him or any of these RFA lunatics ever again. The thought didn’t sit very well with her, oddly, but she didn’t have long to think on it before Vanderwood began speaking, the quiet cadence of his voice a welcome distraction from the cacophony of her own mind.

“I… suppose I haven’t really thought about it,” he said slowly, caught off guard. “That kind of thinking isn’t very productive when you’re locked into a life like this with no way out.”

“Locked in?”

“I couldn’t leave if I wanted to,” he admitted, taking a long sip of his coffee. “I have no friends and no family on the outside. None of us do, and they like it that way. It’s easier to control your operatives.”

“…You’ve got me,” Melody whispered. She continued cooking as if nothing was wrong, but she felt anxious waiting on his response. There was a distinct clink that could only be the bottom of a coffee mug on a countertop.

“You need to go back to your life after this is over and forget all about me.”

“People don’t just _forget_ people,” she said with a sigh, serving out the omelettes onto two plates.

“They do if they know what’s good for them…” Vanderwood muttered.

Melody paused with the plates in her hand, raised centimeters over the table. What kind of life did he live that left him _no one_? Of course, she got lonely sometimes, but even on the worst of days she had her family. She had Rosalie and Zen and her classmates and her coworkers.

Who did he have?

“Thank you for cooking,” he said quietly, gently taking the plate from her.

“Of course,” she murmured.

They ate their breakfast in the stewing silence of too many residual thoughts and too much unfinished paperwork.

* * *

**Day 10: 11:46PM**

**Agent 707’s Living Room**

Since 707 was off in the apartment with Rosalie, Vanderwood and Melody were left to themselves on the evening before the party.

She wasn’t sure who suggested truth or dare, or how they started it, but with only two people… Well, it was basically twenty questions with the slight possibility for danger. Vanderwood picked dares more often than truths, and Melody picked truths more often than dares. However, Melody wasn’t particularly adventurous with her dares, and Vanderwood, being an agent who understood the importance of personal privacy, wasn’t particularly inventive with his truths. It was more like a strange kind of casual conversation, but with significantly more alcohol.

The party was tomorrow.

That meant tonight was probably the last night she’d spend here, which brought on a myriad of mixed feelings. She wanted to go back home and resume life as normal, but this week was something that made her truly realize that normal was relative. Vanderwood’s normal, Seven’s normal, even Zen’s normal were foreign things to her. Maybe it wasn’t even possible to define her own normal any more.

Maybe she just muddled through the best that she could.

“Truth,” Vanderwood said, switching things up. Melody’s question was out of her mouth before she had time to think it through.

“Did you really kiss me because of the vodka?” she asked quietly, though she didn’t dare look up at him, her eyes trained on her hands wrapped around a bottle of beer. There was a long pause, too long to be comfortable, and she almost regretting asking that question by the time he answered.

“No.”

_No?_

Melody’s head snapped up, but he wasn’t looking at her. Vanderwood lounged beside her, staring at some undefined spot on the blank wall in the distance.

“Your turn,” he urged.

“Truth,” Melody breathed, but she wasn’t thinking about that. Her cheeks were on fire, and she felt like a teenager trying to make more of a situation than there really was to think about.

“Why do you say you hate the world when you so obviously don’t?”

Melody paused, her entire thought process derailed by his question. Was she really that easy to see through? For all her pomp and circumstance, he was right. She didn’t hate the world. On the contrary, she really loved it most days, and she liked being here, and she liked being _alive_. But…

“Look, I know I keep talking about Rosalie when it comes to this, but I’m not her, okay? I want to be like her, but I’m not,” Melody said with a huff, tossing her empty bottle into the recycling bin. It made a dull clinking sound as it clattered against the other bottles, only serving to remind her how much more she _shouldn’t_ drink.

“Rosalie is all… sunshine and rainbows. Charity work and soft hearts and always looking on the bright side. It just… I don’t understand how she does that. It seems exhausting. And I mean, I guess for all that she has her life together, she’s really naïve and a little childlike, but I just… I wish I was that.”

“And what are you now?” Vanderwood asked, looking at her through half-lidded eyes in a way that made her breath catch. Melody bit her lip for a moment, letting her shoulder slump. She’d said enough already. Why not spill the rest?

“I’m a pessimist. A realist on the best of days. I over prepare and under plan and run around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to get everything done. I want to believe in people, but I don’t, because I’m pathetically scared to get hurt. I’m selfish, and negative, and I don’t trust anyone, because I learned a long time ago that I can’t be anyone’s fix-it or problem solver, and that the more I set myself on fire for other people, the more I burn out everything that makes me myself.”

She slumped a little, giving a wry laugh. This was the byproduct of alcohol and late nights and bottling things up. You spilled out your guts to a secret agent sitting on the sofa of another secret agent’s house while you waited on updates from your friend in a deadly apartment.

How did she end up in this situation?

“Because I’m _tired_ ,” she finally whispered. “Because I’m tired and my heart hurts, and I’ve bled all I can bleed, and sometimes it’s easier to stay numb for a little while. And… I think you’re tired, too.”

It all came spilling out of her mouth before she could stop herself, and Melody found herself locking eyes with Vanderwood, stunned into silence that she’d let him hear so much. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was just him, but she’d never told anyone that before. Not even Rosalie.

“You’re right,” he said quietly, shifting closer.

“T—truth or dare?” she murmured, eager to change the subject, but couldn’t bring herself to break the eye contact. It was mesmerizing being this close to him, feeling his warmth beside her, eyes tracking the movement of his lips as he spoke.

“Dare.”

A pause.

“Kiss me?”

It was so soft that she wondered for a moment if he’d heard her at all, the entire room around them in a state of delicate stasis. A word, a breath, a gesture could break the momentary, delicate peace.

“God, yes.”

It felt less like being kissed and more like being devoured, Vanderwood’s soft lips insistent against hers.

“This is a terrible decision.”

“You’re probably right.”

His mouth was on hers again in a moment. Melody’s eyes fluttered closed as Vanderwood’s fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her against him tightly with one hand. His rough grip on her waist was tight enough to bruise, but she didn’t mind, as eager for closeness and heat and _touch_ as he was. She wrapped her arms around his neck, nails gently scraping against his scalp and fingertips trailing down the nape of his neck. It felt like fire in her veins as the hand tangled in her hair wandered lower, brushing the side of her breast, trailing down her sides to caress the bare skin at the small of her back where her shirt was out of place.

Melody let out a small, involuntary moan, eyes fluttering open for just a moment before Vanderwood kissed her again, sliding his tongue into her open mouth. His hands settled on her hips, urging her closer and settling her onto his lap. She gladly obliged, enjoying his slight shudder when she wrapped her legs around his waist, her body nearly flush against his.

Her greedy fingers wound through his hair as his lips wandered across her skin, pressing kisses along her jaw, down her neck, teeth nipping at her collarbone and scraping gently along her pulse point. Her nimble fingers worked open the buttons of his shirt, eager to have it off him, to be able to run her hands over the smooth skin she’d thought about more than she wanted to admit. Warm hands wandered underneath her t-shirt, easing the fabric upwards over her torso. She paused for long enough to let him pull the fabric over her head, feeling only a little shy under his exploratory gaze.

Trying to hide the blush on her cheeks, Melody dipped her head to run kisses along his collarbone as she gently worked his shirt off his shoulders. His skin was riddled with scars, and she found herself tracing over them with her eyes and with her fingertips. Light, gentle touches, ghosting over toned muscles and a thousand stories seared into his skin. Careful to avoid his stitches and fresh wounds, Melody thought she could almost feel the blood rushing through his veins as she touched him. She unconsciously lingered on a wound over his heart, a narrow slash.

“Knife wound,” he explained, pulling away for only a moment. “Nearly killed me. Didn’t make it through the rib cage, thank God.”

Melody’s gaze flicked to his eyes and back to the scar, tracing her fingertips over it. She could feel his heart beating if she pressed her palm there.

“Melody… I…” he began, but trailed off.

“Yes?”

Vanderwood opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

And instead of talking, went back to attempting to touch every bit of exposed skin he could reach. She wanted to know what he was about to say, but it turned out that he was _very_ good at distracting her.

“Truth or dare?” he murmured against her skin, the breathy whisper causing her to shudder as he trailed kisses down her torso, along the tops of her breasts, sucking and nipping on her over-sensitized skin. Melody blinked in confusion, half dazed.

“Wha—what?”

“Choose,” Vanderwood prodded, his hand palming her ass and pulling her closer, pressing her against the growing evidence of his arousal as he continued to distort her senses with gentle kisses.

“Truth,” Melody finally gasped, the word half a moan. She would likely be embarrassed beyond belief if it weren’t for the alcohol, but even without the alcohol she would have wanted his hands on her like this. No one had ever touched her like this before, but she found that regardless of the circumstances, she was glad that it was him.

“Do you trust me?”

He looked up just then, his gray eyes suddenly the only thing she could see. Melody’s eyes searched his, looking for any tell, any giveaway in his expression, but she found none.

“Yes.”

“How much?”

A pause.

“Enough for this.”

“Good.”

Her legs still around his waist, Vanderwood hoisted Melody up and carried her quite purposefully towards the stairs. She wrapped her arms around him for support, taking the opportunity to explore the planes of his back with her hands, leaving kisses anywhere she could reach, listening for the slight hitch in his breath when she found a particularly sensitive spot.

“You will be the death of me,” he gasped, stumbling through the door of his bedroom. Vanderwood placed her on the bed with surprising gentleness. She’d almost been expecting a rougher toss, but this felt more reverent, more vulnerable, almost like…

Like a lover.

“I much prefer you alive,” Melody said quickly, brushing the thought aside and tugging him towards her by the hand. In the moment, she wasn’t sure what to do with her limbs, but she found that if she didn’t think about it too much, her body took care of where to place things for her. Now above her on the bed, Vanderwood fumbled with the clasp of her bra only briefly before he pulled it away and tossed the offending garment to the side. He wasted no time taking her nipple in his mouth, laving over it with his tongue as Melody gasped in surprise, quickly turning into a tiny moan of pleasure.

“Sensitive, are we?” he muttered playfully, moving to kiss her other breast as his hand wandered downward, barely dipping past the waistband of her jeans. She arched into his touch, aching for a stronger sensation, but he moved away. Whimpering in frustration, Melody hooked her leg around his hip and used the momentum to flip them over. His eyes went wide with shock and arousal, watching intently as she fumbled with the clasp of her jeans and slid them off, now straddling him on the mattress.

“Oh, look at _you_ ,” he whispered as his eyes roamed over her form, bringing a blush to her cheeks and a fire to her veins at once. The moment of shock was enough for him to flip them back over so that he crouched over her on the bed, one hand trailing down her abdomen to dip beneath her panties. Melody gasped his name as he stroked her folds, barely brushing her clit. She felt shy and wanton at once as he gazed down at her. Her first instinct was to hide, to cover herself, to shy away, but he took both her wrists in his free hand, pulling them away from her and above her head as he looked down at her bare body.

“Wha—?” she stuttered, trying to find somewhere to look besides his face.

“ _Beautiful_ ,” he rasped, gaze trailing brazenly across her body as he continued to stroke her, eliciting gasps and moans that she wasn’t quite able to bite back. It felt like she blushed everywhere possible, but he didn’t look away. Melody finally made eye contact with him after a long moment, surprised at the soft look in his eyes as his grip loosened and he bent to kiss her. She hesitantly slipped her tongue into his mouth, taking his soft groan as encouragement to reach down and fumble with the clasp of his belt. Vanderwood stopped teasing her for long enough to pull away her panties, leaving her whimpering at the loss of contact and completely exposed on the cool sheets.

“Melody… are you sure you want this?” Vanderwood asked softly, pulling away for just a moment, still close enough that their breaths mingled.

“Yes. Absolutely,” she said, nodding. “… Are _you_? I don’t want to hurt you.” Melody gently touched one of the barely-healed injuries on his arm, but Vanderwood shrugged her off.

“I thought _I_ was supposed to say that,” he said with a laugh.

In case that wasn’t enough of an answer for her, he pressed his lips to hers once again. All the tension in her body seemed to melt away as she molded herself against him. It was true that she might be a little tipsy now, but she was sober enough to know that she _wanted_ this. She wanted _him_.

“I’ve been… dreaming… about you… for _days_ …” Vanderwood admitted between kisses.

“I have, too,” Melody groaned, pushing away his pushing away his pants and boxers in one rough motion. She took a moment to rake her eyes over his body as he had done to her, eyes lingering on his already erect cock for longer than she likely should have. The sexy smirk on his face was almost enough to undo her right then and there, but she barely had time to gather her thoughts before he slid down her body. His hands rested on her thighs, easing her legs apart as he kissed her inner thighs gently, just enough sensation to make her gasp beneath him.

“You don’t… you don’t need—” She cut off with a gasp at the sensation of his tongue lapping at her entrance. His soft laughter sent reverberations through her body, causing her to bite back a moan even as she pressed closer to him, hips bucking of their own accord.

“Oh, my dove… let me do this. Let me hear you.”

She couldn’t have denied him if she tried, and _oh_ , she tried. His talented tongue stroked her mercilessly, sucking and licking while carefully avoiding her clit. She let out a low moan at the sensation, fingers tangling in his hair as she arched into his touch, back arching upwards as his strong arms held her firmly in place.

“Va— Vand— _ahhh_ ,” she babbled, eyes squeezed shut. The pressure building slowly in her lower belly was now a roaring fire, a raging waterfall, ready to consume her or throw her over the edge. She couldn’t think of anything except him, couldn’t feel anything but his hands and mouth on her.

“That’s it,” he cooed, adding his fingers to his tongue, gently stroking in and out as he finally, _finally_ moved to focus on her clitoris. Melody practically screamed as she climaxed, muttering a string of jumbled praises and curses and bits of his name as he continued to tease her with teeth and tongue through her orgasm. His hands on her thighs rubbed soothing circles over her flushed skin, easing her down from her high as she lay panting against the mattress.

The satisfied look on his face when she opened her eyes was enough to both infuriate and arouse her as she hauled him down for a kiss, the strange taste of her own fluid on his tongue. He held himself over her on the bed, body just far enough above hers that she could feel the heat, but not _quite_ touch.

“Someone’s eager,” he rasped, voice hitching slightly. She nodded, tracing her hand down his abdomen to hesitantly palm at his erection. Vanderwood gasped, composure shaken for a moment as she lightly stroked his cock, fingertips just teasing the head.

The thought struck her that he looked truly incredible, like some Greek Adonis standing over her, somehow responding to _her_ touch, to _her_ lips. She never would have thought that someone like him would want someone like her, but perhaps now wasn’t the time to think about that.

“That’s enough of that.” He caught her hand in his and pulled it away, leaning in closer to rub the head of his cock against her soaked folds. “You’re thinking too much,” Vanderwood groaned.

“I’m _not_ —” she protested, cutting off as he caught her nipple between his fingers.

“Don’t think. Just _feel_.”

They groaned in unison as he slid inside her slowly. Melody automatically wrapped her legs around his waist, at first feeling a little too full. However, as he slowly began to rock into her, she found herself relaxing, craving more of him, trying to take him deeper. Every thrust of his hips made her feel like she was shattering, hypersensitive, his cock sliding at a perfect angle inside her with every stroke.

He shivered as her nails gently scraped along his back, their kisses becoming sloppy and heated as he continued to thrust into her, his hands playing over her breasts and her lips and teeth leaving marks on his neck, on his chest. She gasped out his name against his ear as her walls just began to flutter, and—

Then he stopped.

Melody groaned in frustration as he chuckled, one of his hands on her hips keeping her in place. Vanderwood looked down at her as if surveying his work, leaning back on his knees as his free hand traced gently over her cheeks, her breasts, down her stomach, across the curve of her hips, the touch just light enough to frustrate her.

“You’re a horrible tease,” she muttered, still struggling.

“Am I?” he asked, smirking as he leaned closer, whispering in her ear. “If you ask nicely, I might give you what you want.”

Melody bit back a moan at merely the sound of his voice, the feeling of his breath on her skin. “… Please,” she breathed.

“Mmm, what was that?” he asked, taking her ear lobe between his teeth. “I couldn’t hear you.”

“Dammit, _please_ , Vanderwood!”

“All you had to do was ask, dove,” he murmured, laughing softly.

She outright cried out in relief as he slipped back inside her, but this time with more urgency, pulling one of her knees up nearly over his shoulder to change the angle of his thrusts. The only noises in the room were of their breathing, the beating of their hearts in their ears, and the sound of their bodies coming together, a soundscape that was at once erotic and intimate. His controlled, rhythmic thrusts slowly became more erratic and unstable as he panted above her, pushing them both towards release.

“Look at me,” she whispered, only half aware she was speaking out loud. “I want… I want to see you.”

Vanderwood nodded, pressing a harsh kiss to her mouth for a moment. He reached up to brush her bangs away from her face, gray eyes meeting her brown ones. She felt utterly lost in the sensation, wanting to close her eyes but never wanting to look away from him at once.

“Come for me, dove,” Vanderwood urged.

His words and the driving rhythm of his thrusts were enough to send her over the edge, crying out as she clung onto him, riding out her orgasm as he let out a guttural cry and released inside her. Panting, she traced her hands down his back as he continued to gently thrust into her for a moment before he fell slack against her, his warm weight covering her much smaller form. Vanderwood rolled to the side, harshly pulling her on top of him for a series of sloppy, desperate kisses, his hands stroking over the curves of her body like he was laying claim to her.

It felt like her senses were on fire, buzzing out of control, only grounded by Vanderwood’s possessive touch, and she held onto him just as tightly. Lazy kisses gave way to gentle breathing, to tracing abstract patterns over skin and running her hands through his hair.

“Why do you call me a dove?” Melody asked curiously, still a little breathless.

“I remember a story from when I was a child about an arc and a dove and an olive branch,” Vanderwood said slowly. “The bird brought back a branch to show that the earth was dry. Evidence that the rest of the world existed, that they weren’t the only ones out there, alone on an island. That life continued to go on.”

He paused for a moment, still tracing patterns over her skin, but he seemed to be looking at something very far away that Melody couldn’t see.

“You remind me that there’s something better out there that I’m supposed to be fighting for. That was why I thought the intelligence agency was a better option. I lost that somewhere along the way. You remind me of when I wanted _more_.”

Melody blinked away tears, thinking that she certainly would not be one of those people that cried after sex, especially after her first time. She simply snuggled closer to him as sleep threatened to overtake her, feeling safe and wanted. Logically, she should get up and _clean_ up and take care of other things, but she just didn’t want to at the moment, and after this wild ride of a week, she felt like she deserved not to be logical for a minute.

“I hope that you get everything that you want,” she murmured.

She missed the hitch in his breath as she fell asleep in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me because this is my first time writing smut... *sweats in the corner*


	6. In Which Zen Picks a Dress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it should be fairly obvious by now that Rosalie is hardcore crushing on Seven and I'm using the timeline from his route, but here's a disclaimer that I've altered the sequence of events a little for my own nefarious(?) purposes (read: so they can all meet up at the party together and give me more time for emotional development).

**Day 11: 7:02AM**

**Vanderwood’s Bedroom**

Vanderwood woke to a bedroom bathed in soft morning light, gray sheets draped haphazardly over his legs, and a warm weight pressed against his side. His head felt a little fuzzy from slight dehydration, but the memories of the night before were _very_ clear.

He glanced over at the woman sleeping next to him, eyes scanning over the way the morning light illuminated the contours of her pale skin, settling on soft curves and spatters of freckles dusted over her shoulders and hips like scattered stars. This wasn’t the first time that he’d made an impulse decision and wound up in bed with a beautiful woman beside him, nor the first time that he found himself wanting to wake her, claim her again before the morning became too bright and the situation too real. The room existed in a dreamlike state of frozen reality, only to be broken by the light of morning, when they would inevitably face the consequences for their choices.

Melody surely knew, though. She knew this couldn’t last.

She had to.

That was exactly what it was important to take advantage of the moments while they lasted. In a career like his, a _life_ like his, people came and went and were never heard from again. You had to seize the moment while it was still within your reach. However, as much as he understood that… Vanderwood also found himself wanting to watch her sleep. He wanted to savor the sound of her soft breathing, to lazily run his hands over her soft, pliant body and enjoy the sensation of being so _close_ to her. He wanted to kiss her awake— her cheeks, her nose, her lips, the tips of her fingers that now rested over his heart, her body draped over him like he was her shelter— and watch her eyes flutter open, watch her expression change to a sleepy smile.

God, did she have a beautiful smile.

It terrified him.

She wasn’t the first woman that made him want to _stay_ , but she was the first in many, many years. He couldn’t remember a woman like that since the very beginning of his time at the agency, but perhaps that was because everyone even remotely involved in the work that he did understood the impermanence of relationships. As much as she claimed to be selfish and pessimistic, Vanderwood could see a real heart in Melody that he felt he’d been missing, an echo of a world he’d left behind. Faith, loyalty, and determination that even if the outcome seemed bleak, she would make certain that things turned her way in the end.

He allowed himself to hold her a little closer, just for a moment, allowed himself to trail his fingers down her spine and press a gentle kiss to her forehead. She was not a naïve, good-hearted princess in a tower, but she was real in a way that made his very soul ache for her.

And then he got up.

Vanderwood slowly, carefully extricated himself from her grasp, careful not to wake her as he stood and draped an extra blanket over her bare body. Waking up next to her was too painfully intimate, too indicative of something more that he could never have. It was best to break it off now, to be as impersonal as possible, before he accidentally shattered her.

His fingertips unconsciously ghosted over the scar across his chest as he turned away.

* * *

**Day 11: 1:42PM**

**Downtown**

Melody had been shopping with Zen before, but never like this. They walked arm in arm through the downtown streets, both sporting hats and large pairs of sunglasses, mostly because Melody actually _liked_ flopping hats and sunglasses, and because Zen needed a disguise. That part was normal. What was _not_ normal was shopping for a formal dress with someone else footing the bill.

“Are you really sure it’s okay for him to do this?” she asked for maybe the tenth time that hour. It was the fifth store they’d been in, everything was ungodly expensive, and they still hadn’t found anything for Melody to wear. Most of the high-end stores that Zen had connections with used patterns that favored taller, willowy models with Rosalie’s body type. Almost everything was too long and the wrong proportions on Melody— too tight at the bust, too big at the waist, too long in the torso— and there wasn’t exactly time to have them altered. The party was _tonight_.

“I learned a long time ago that if Jumin says he wants to do something, you’re better off not fighting him about it,” Zen said with a shrug, looking around at a row of black dresses in various styles.

“I don’t even know him, though.” Melody continued to look through dresses as they spoke, but nothing caught her eye. Too long. Too short. Too childish. Too… red.

“He feels like he knows _you_. They all do. Rosalie and I talk about you enough, and Seven, too, now that he knows you.”

“I’m not sure if I’m flattered or embarrassed…” Maybe both. That seemed like a logical combination of emotions.

“Heads up, I think they’re going to make you an honorary member after the party,” Zen said with a wink.

As kind as that seemed, Melody wondered if there was anything that she could really do to help them. After all, their team was made up of a hacker, an actor with lots of PR pull, the CEO of an incredibly powerful corporation and his assistant, and… Alright, there was a regular college student there, too. She wasn’t a hundred percent sure about how he fit in. It was just that Melody didn’t know what she had to offer.

“Okay, you have got to try this one on. Go. Now.” Zen shoved a bundle of black fabric into her arms before she had time to blink, shooing her off towards the dressing rooms. She barely had time to look at it before she was back behind a curtain, slipping into the dress and pulling the zipper up the side. There was very little point in arguing with Zen while shopping. Melody usually just submitted to his whims.

“Um, Zen…” she said quietly, poking her head past the curtain, but not the rest of her body. “I don’t know about this one.”

“Let me see,” he said, smiling like the Cheshire cat as he pulled aside the curtain and snatched her hand in his, guiding her out into the middle of the room. Melody bit her lip from nervousness, rubbing her bare arms and feeling a little self-conscious.

“You _need_ to go with this one,” Zen said, nodding. “It’s perfect.”

“Isn’t it a little… um…” Melody gestured vaguely to her chest area, then again to the low back. The dress was black with off the shoulder sleeves, sporting an impressive sweetheart neck in the front and a low back that gave way to a flared, floor length skirt.

“It’s _perfect_. You look like a babe, babe,” he said with a wink. Melody rolled her eyes.

“I don’t know. Don’t you think it’s too… _too_?” Sexy? Femme fatale? 1950s with a twist? Gothic Cinderella?

“It’s also the polar opposite of the one you picked for Rosalie,” Zen pointed out in a singsong voice.

That much was true, at least. They’d settled on a knee length, white bodycon dress for Rosalie with elbow length sleeves, a high collar, silver detailing, and a keyhole back. It was just sexy enough to draw the eye while still looking professional. This black number looked… Well, less like a businesswoman and more like a fairy tale character.

She briefly entertained the idea of a princess, but… Well, she lacked the grace. Good at dancing but clumsy on her feet and too blunt with her words on the best of days, Melody would rather be a wizard or a knight or a dragon.

“Why does that matter?” she asked softly, blushing as she glanced at herself in the full-length mirror.

“I know you love her like a sister. I really do,” Zen said as he walked up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders, “but I also know that you want to stand out on your own terms.”

Melody’s brow furrowed as she made eye contact with her own reflection.

“You’re making me into the Black Swan,” she murmured, shaking her head.

“The Black Swan has the most iconic dance in the show.” Zen smiled brightly, reaching out to tap the tip of her nose gently. “Go with it.”

Melody began to protest again, but at that moment the shop attendant walked back into the room. She snapped her mouth shut, feeling suddenly shy again as she stepped away from the mirrors and back towards the dressing room. If she couldn’t even handle walking through the dressing room in it, how was she supposed to get through the entire evening in this dress? And wasn’t it a little much for a _business_ party?

“We’ll take that one,” Zen said firmly. She didn’t need to look back at him to know that there was a smirk on his face as she drew the curtains shut and slipped out of the dress. Ah, well. They would just have to see how things went this evening.

Melody gently hung the dress back in its place on the hanger and pulled on her normal clothes, blushing again when she noticed the red and purple hickeys around her hips, and thankful that she was skilled enough with makeup to mask the fairly obvious one that bloomed on her collarbone. Zen hadn’t said anything, which meant she’d done a good job. He was a dangerous combination of observant and nosy, and he wouldn’t have hesitated to pry, especially knowing who she was staying with.

Something in her chest clenched as she remembered waking up this morning. He didn’t see her waking up, didn’t know that she was a light sleeper. Hell, how would he know that? There wasn’t any way for him to be able to tell that he roused her when he left the bed, that she watched him dress and walk away, that she felt the weight of the blanket he draped over her like a weight on her heart.

Why did he leave? It would be silly to think that it was anything more than sex to him. Melody knew that. The lipstick smear on his mouth made that perfectly clear, and she… Well, it might have had the potential to be more than sex to her, and it might have hurt to watch him walk away with hardly a backward glance, but it didn’t matter. Sex was sex was sex. It was over. He couldn’t and wouldn’t engage in a relationship beyond casual sex. It might be dangerous for them both, and she knew that. She might not know him as well as she wanted, but Melody knew enough to know that much.

But… his kiss on her forehead confused her. The gentle touches. The slight delay before he left.

Did she regret it?

Melody caught a glance of her own reflection in the mirror: dark circles under her eyes, tousled hair, slightly slumped shoulders, unreadable expression.

 _Debatable_ , she thought. Debatable.

* * *

**Day 11: 7:46PM**

**RFA Party**

Vanderwood had been to plenty of parties in his day, but very few of them where the people in attendance were aware of his identity. Most parties were undercover work, not an invitation from a friend. He _did_ consider Luciel his friend, too. They had been through too much together not to be friends, or to have at least some semblance of care and affection for each other. Luciel wasn’t there yet, though. The RFA members would make their entrances in a moment. Vanderwood had simply arrived fashionably early, milling about among the few other early partygoers as he waited for familiar faces to show themselves.

His breath caught in his throat when she walked through the doors.

The first girl who walked inside was blonde, tall, with striking blue eyes and a sleek, white dress. She was on Luciel’s arm, looking at him like he was her world. The only logical conclusion was that this was Rosalie, looking like the embodiment of a pure sunbeam, the charismatic party coordinator princess, released from her prison and ready to do her job and greet the guests who showed up for the festivities. Luciel reluctantly let her go greet the other members of the RFA, and he watched as his partner’s eyes followed the girl as she flitted around the room. He was clearly infatuated, unable to take his gaze off her.

It was the woman behind her that made Vanderwood’s heart jump, though.

She entered on Zen’s arm, unsurprisingly. He seemed to be supporting her as she looked around nervously, a small smile on her lips. Rather than pinned up, her hair cascaded in a waterfall of dark curls down her back, ending just past her shoulder blades. The pretty blush on her cheeks was only accentuated by her red lipstick, made more apparent by her sweet smile when Zen immediately pulled her out onto the dance floor.

“You’re staring.”

Vanderwood jumped, turning to face a smirking Luciel and a smiling blonde woman.

“You must be Rosalie,” he said, extending his hand as he ignored Luciel’s comment. The woman nodded, shaking his hand genially.

“Thanks for taking care of Melody for me,” she said with a smile.

“She said the same thing about you.” Vanderwood gave an amused snort. Clearly, they were used to looking out for one another. It made him happy to know that she had someone like that, someone to take care of her when…

Well, when he wouldn’t be in the picture any longer, which would be very soon.

Why did that matter, though?

“Cutting in is an acceptable practice,” Luciel muttered, canting his head towards Zen.

Should he? Vanderwood glanced towards Melody, who was laughing freely as Zen spun her in some ridiculous pattern around the dance floor. She looked calm and relaxed. Natural. The smile on her face was so bright that he thought it might be better to simply watch than to do anything that might jeopardize it.

“Go on. I’m not offended.” Rosalie said, laughing.

“You know, speaking of which…” Luciel quickly wrapped an arm around her waist, guiding her out towards the dance floor with a wide smile. Rosalie made a small noise of surprise, but quickly obliged, letting him draw her into a turn and then out onto the floor. They still had a short while before most of the guests were due to arrive and dinner began, which Luciel clearly planned to take advantage of.

Perhaps he should do the same, Vanderwood thought…

His feet carried him towards Melody and Zen before he could think. Later, he vaguely remembered tapping on his shoulder, asking to cut in, but he mostly remembered the moment that her dark brown eyes shifted to his face. He remembered the warmth of her skin through the fabric of her dress, her hands on his shoulders, the gorgeous view of her pale skin contrasting with the dark fabric of the dress. He wanted to twine his fingers through her hair, hanging freely around her shoulders in a way it seldom did, reminding him of the sight of it splayed out on the pillow in the morning sun…

“Beautiful,” he murmured unconsciously.

“What was that?” Melody’s brow furrowed as she looked up at him, pressing a little closer as they turned around the dance floor.

“Your… hair,” he fumbled. “It looks nice when it’s down.”

“Oh. Thank you.” She looked away briefly, seemingly unable to shake the blush from her cheeks. Vanderwood thought, in that moment, that something surely had to be wrong with him. Perhaps he should take a moment and get away. Clear his head.

She didn’t speak for the rest of their dance, looking a little more stiff than usual, and he wondered if it was his fault. What was he meant to tell her, though? There was nothing more they could be, nothing he could do to ease the situation. In fact, shouldn’t it be _less_ strange since she knew that it was something so simple?

As one of the party guests whisked off Melody for a chat and the next dance, Vanderwood made his way out to the balcony. He needed to think, but the music and the people and the proximity were too much. It was ridiculous. He was a _professional_ , for fuck’s sake. Things did _not_ go to his head like this because he couldn’t afford to let them go to his head. All he needed was some fresh air and some space for now, and next week this time, things would be back to normal. He would go on missions and Luciel would avoid his paperwork, and that would be that.

No more chaos.

No more hackers.

No more Melody.

Vanderwood wasn’t certain how long he stayed outside on the balcony, listening to snippets of conversation and trying to distract himself from stewing in his own thoughts, but it was certainly longer than was socially appropriate. Eventually, he did hear a conversation that caught his attention, familiar voices discussing party logistics.

“Can you go grab another bottle of wine?” Rosalie asked. “It’s back in the third room on the right, where the extra party favors are.”

“Sure, no problem.”

Vanderwood couldn’t see her face, but Melody sounded almost relieved to be given a task. Perhaps the party atmosphere felt a little overwhelming. Perhaps she simply found it awkward to be in a room with him. Though he understood on a logical level why that might be, he couldn’t quite fathom it himself. On the contrary, Melody’s _behavior_ from the previous evening just made her all the more intriguing, like an enigma he had to crack.

He couldn’t help but follow her, drawn towards her presence like a magnet.

In hindsight, he wasn’t sure why he followed her, not really. She was like an inevitability to him, like a drug or an addiction or a matter of fate. Clearing his head was a joke, and he knew it.

The storage room was down the hall from the main area of the venue, away from where curious guests might wander. It was likely used as a secondary conference room for other events, but tonight it housed extra wine, party favors, and other emergency supplies. Melody left the door slightly open, and through the opening he could see her bent over a box, black skirt flaring out so that she appeared to float on air in the dimly lit room. She was clearly looking for the wine bottles, and he didn’t want to startle her, but the possibility of having a moment alone while they still had time was too much to pass up.

He gently knocked as he entered, announcing his presence. Melody looked over her shoulder, expression shifting from surprise, to fear, to something like annoyance, and back to surprise. She seemed reluctant to speak, frozen like a deer in the headlights, so Vanderwood took the initiative.

“I thought we should talk,” he said softly, shutting the door behind him.

“About?” Melody raised her eyebrow. Her face was carefully unreadable. If he hadn’t seen her use that look before while checking suspicious texts on her phone, while talking to a stranger in the back booth of a bar, while looking off into the distance after an update from her friend, he wouldn’t have been able to tell that she was nervous. Vanderwood knew that she was, though.

“Well, we missed the morning conversation…” he began, wondering where he was even going with this. What did he want to say? Normally he would just leave it. They had sex. That was all, and there wasn’t anything else to address.

The itch to touch her and hold her and _kiss_ her said differently, though. One time wasn’t enough for him, and for once it seemed that his body knew something that his mind hadn’t quite managed to grasp.

“Look, if you expected a blushing, regretful virgin, you won’t find it here,” she said quickly, turning back to looking through boxes. “I know it was just sex to you. That lipstick on your mouth the other night made that _very_ clear. It’s fine to keep it that way.”

There was a note of bitterness in her voice, but that wasn’t what caught his attention.

“ _Were_ you a virgin?” Vanderwood stuttered. She certainly hadn’t _acted_ like it! Then again, they were both a little tipsy. Perhaps he’d been so blinded by his own desire that he hadn’t noticed. Ugh, that just made things even worse, though.

“Well, not anymore,” she muttered, flushing with embarrassment.

“Oh, god…” he groaned, rubbing his eyes. This was _not_ the kind of emotional entanglement he wanted. He wouldn’t have slept with her at all if he’d known…

But that was a lie. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to stop himself if she’d consented in the same way, even if he’d known.

“Don’t brush me off like that,” she snapped, shoulders stiffening. “I slept with you because I wanted to, because I— I wanted _you_.”

Well, at least she didn’t regret it. It helped to ease his conscience, but only a little, and a different weight on his chest bid him speak before he truly thought through his statement.

“It isn’t getting in the way of Zen?”

They really were a lovely pair. A _perfect_ pair. The actor obviously felt something for her— even Luciel had insinuated it more than once— and why shouldn’t he? They worked together. They were obviously friends. This… whatever _this_ was would only complicate that relationship, especially if Vanderwood was only a distraction from someone else. It felt like his thoughts ran rampant at a hundred miles an hour, grasping onto excuses and reasons and anything they could in order to make things feel more realistic, in order to force himself to let go.

“Getting in the way of _what_ with Zen?” she scoffed, throwing a glance over her shoulder. “He’s my _friend_. Unless you’re jealous? Which you shouldn’t be, because I thought it was just sex, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” he said firmly, then paused. “No.”

Melody straightened, one hand on her hip and a bottle of wine in the other as she looked at him with her eyebrows raised, expectant.

“Which is it, then, Mary?”

Vanderwood’s jaw ticked.

“You’re aware that’s not my real name, aren’t you?” he asked quietly, stepping closer. Melody backed away, likely from instinct, but he continued to move nearer until she was backed against the wall. She didn’t respond, but she had to be aware that wasn’t his real name. After all, she’d never called him by it. Vanderwood found his eyes wandering down the column of her neck, across the swell of her breasts, trailing down the path of a misplaced curl of brown hair that fell across her chest.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, tucking the stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Like a goddess of the night. I could steal the stars from your breath if I tried…” His thumb gently traced over her bottom lip, and he noted with satisfaction how her breath hitched at that small motion.

“You could find out, if you wanted.” It was barely more than a whisper, but it was enough.

She shuddered under his touch when he kissed her, the bottle of wine falling to the floor with a muted thump as she gripped the lapels of his jacket as if for support, pulling him closer and trapping him there. Not that he minded at all, of course. Something about her was like a drug to him, and though there was no telling when he’d become so addicted, he had no plans to quit. He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers, caressing her bare shoulder with one hand, his fingertips sliding back to just graze the edge of her tattoo.

“I told you that this was a terrible decision,” he murmured against her lips.

“Then why are _you_ the one kissing me against a wall?”

Fair point. Vanderwood pressed closer, leaning down to kiss along her jaw, to run his fingers across the expanse of pale skin exposed by the low back of her dress. She leaned into his touch, pliant and willing, eyes fluttering closed.

“The moment I hear a complaint, I’ll stop.”

“This _is_ a terrible plan… but you’re not going to be stopping,” Melody said with a pleasant sigh. A shock of something like electricity or adrenaline shot down his spine as she pressed closer, arching her back and pushing herself flush against him. Her hands fumbled with his suit jacket, fighting to push it off his shoulders, and something about that motion shook him out of his curious, lustful daze.

“Melody, you were right about one thing. This… can’t last,” he said, catching her hand. “Not in my line of work.”

Vanderwood kissed the back of her palm softly, though he couldn’t explain why he did it. Now wasn’t the time for tender gestures. It was time to cut ties. Logically, they would never see each other again after tonight. It would be dangerous for her to spend more time with him.

“I don’t care. I want you,” she murmured against his skin.

That was all the permission he needed. Vanderwood mercilessly drew her closer, gripping her hips with a desperate force that might leave bruises, Melody’s back pressed against the wall as they fumbled with their clothing. He shucked off his jacket and tossed it somewhere else in the room, forgotten as Melody worked open the buttons of his shirt to press her soft lips against his skin. Her very touch made him hazy with want, and her quiet cries and low moans and his hands ran along her skin showed him that she clearly felt the same.

Vanderwood had enough presence of mind left to reach over and flip the lock on the door, just in case anyone might come in looking for some random item. He wasn’t about to be interrupted, not now.

His fingers clutched on the black fabric of her skirt, pulling it up around her waist to expose her bare legs. Melody’s nimble fingers made quick work of the clasp of his pants, one hand sliding down inside his boxers to brazenly stroke his cock. Now that he knew her previous sexual history, he could tell where her enthusiasm just barely managed to cover for her inexperience, but he truly had nothing to complain about. The touch was soft, experimental, but he couldn’t help but buck against her hand, craving more sensation even as his own fingers traced their way up the soft skin of her thighs, roughly tugging away her lacy underwear to tease her in the same way she teased him.

A single touch confirmed what he already knew: She wanted him just as badly as he wanted her. Vanderwood stroked along the slickness between her thighs, noting the tiny, mewling cry when his fingers brushed over a particularly sensitive spot inside her. Retaliation was swift and pleasurable, her grip around his cock tightening _just so_ as she hesitantly moved in longer strokes. Clearly he was right to think that she was a fast learner, responding to his signals in the same way that he noticed her moans and sighs.

Too soon she pulled away, leaving him groaning in frustration at the loss of contact. His eyes met hers, half lidded and hazy, as she fumbled to push away his pants and boxers.

“Please?” She sighed.

“Oh, _yes_ ,” Vanderwood moaned. In one swift motion, he tightened his grip on her thighs and hoisted her up, her legs around his waist and her back against the wall for support as his cock slid home inside her. Everything was warmth and heat and _her_ , the room fading into touch and sound and desire as he moved.

He was rough with her this time, nothing like the slow buildup and playful touching of the previous night. There was no gentle teasing, only desperate desire, sloppy kisses, the feeling of her nails scratching marks into his skin, tightening each time he snapped his hips against hers. He gripped her thighs hard enough to bruise, her head thrown back against the wall as she cried out with each driving thrust from his cock.

The walls here weren’t so thick that they were soundproof, and he should probably be doing something to muffle her cries in case someone walked by, as someone was likely to at any moment. However, he found that he no longer wanted to muffle them. On the contrary, he did everything he could to make them louder, biting and sucking at the soft skin of her neck and breasts hard enough to bruise. There was something satisfying about marking her, leaving evidence behind. Maybe it was because in all other aspects of life, he wasn’t anything more than a ghost.

The feeling of her hands pulling his hair sent a shot of pure adrenaline down his spine. Vanderwood groaned against her skin, rewarding her with a particularly hard thrust that elicited a high, keening cry from her lips. She was close. He could feel the telltale clenching and fluttering around him, hear the change in her breathing.

And then the doorknob turned.

Vanderwood was thankful he’d locked it, but it didn’t stop whoever was on the other side from trying again, and then from knocking loudly.

“Everything okay in there?”

He couldn’t tell who the voice belonged to, but Vanderwood didn’t stop thrusting into her.

“Tell them it’s fine,” he whispered, trailing his lips along her jaw. “Go on. Unless you want him to walk in and see your legs around my waist with my cock inside you.”

“F—fine,” Melody stammered, biting back another moan. “Everything’s fine!”

“I heard noises, so I wanted to check,” the voice said again. Ah, now he recognized it. It was _Zen_. Something about that made him feel rather possessive.

“Just knocked— over a box.” Melody paused, gasping as Vanderwood scraped his teeth across her skin. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay, if you’re sure…”

Footsteps retreated down the hallway, and Melody relaxed, though she only managed to glare at him for a moment before he kissed away the sour expression.

“Good girl,” Vanderwood said with a smirk. She flushed bright red, but didn’t manage to eek out a retort before he increased his pace, shifting her position to change the angle of his thrusts.

“You… owe me,” Melody panted, biting off a cry as she buried her face against the crook of his neck, breath coming in short gasps against his heated skin.

“Oh? And what would the lady like?” he asked, slowing slightly.

Melody’s brown eyes met his, pupils blown wide with lust, and to her credit, she had the presence of mind to ask something that he hadn’t ever dreamed she would ask. Not ever, and especially not now, pinned against the wall with him balls deep inside her.

“What’s your real name?”

Dear lord.

Far be it from him to deny her anything when she asked him in that voice. Their current position gave him the illusion of control, but he knew very well that just in that moment, there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her. She could break him or make him. It made him feel free as much as the notion absolutely terrified him.

He kissed her to distract himself, the taste of wine still on her lips from the party down the hall.

“Marius,” he murmured, breath ghosting against her skin. He hadn’t said that name in years. In fact, only Luciel knew it. That was why he’d chosen “Mary” as an alias for him.

“Marius…” Melody repeated, as if testing the feeling of it on her tongue.

She couldn’t last much longer, and neither could he. Vanderwood could feel her tightening around him, feel the same desperate clinging as last night, when her nails left marks on the skin of his back.

“Oh— oh, _Marius_ ,” she moaned, crying out as she came. He shuddered against her, gasping at the sound of his name on her lips, so long lost to any lonely lips that it was almost forgotten, even to him. It cracked his heart, cracked his soul to hear, and Vanderwood had to push the notion aside in order to stay present, to focus on the sensation of the warm body under him, the sheer driving force of physical need.

He kept thrusting into her mercilessly, his cock pounding into her over-sensitized cunt with the wet sound of flesh against flesh that only served to heighten his arousal. Melody gave a sharp cry with each thrust, having barely ridden out her orgasm, clinging onto him for support. Her nails scratched against his back once more, and the sensation was just enough to push him over the edge, groaning his release against her shoulder as he sheathed himself inside her to the hilt. Melody moaned, too, still shaking with adrenaline.

He rested her forehead against hers, feeling almost unable to move for a moment, still breathing hard. She slowly caressed his back, running her hands in soothing strokes over places where there were no doubt scratch marks. Vanderwood finally loosened his grip on her thighs, but was hesitant to move away or let her go. He gently placed her on the ground, still supporting her as her legs shook and she clung onto him.

If possible, he wanted to bask in the moment a while longer, but moments are fragile, and it didn’t last.

“Va— Vanderwood,” she whispered, “I—”

He swallowed her words with a kiss.

“You can’t,” he gasped, eyes squeezed shut. “Whatever you’re about to say, don’t say it.”

“What do you think I’m about to say?” Melody looked somewhere between concerned and offended.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But whatever it is, don’t say it.”

 _Don’t tell me you love me_ , he thought. _Anything but that._

People had told him that before, before and after sex. He’d even been told that before by other people who made him want to stay, just as she did. He never _believed_ them, but that wasn’t the point. Love was attachment, and avoiding attachments was practically the first rule in the agency handbook. Love complicated things in ways he didn’t feel ready for, not so soon or so fast or so fiercely. Love meant that he’d have to leave her, and it would already be hard enough to do that without hearing something so sweet from the woman who had somehow managed to turn him upside down in all of two weeks.

He should know better, though. Melody was far too practical to tell him something like that. She said it herself— it was _sex_ , and sex with the kind of girl who was too smart to give her heart away so easily. She was smart and resourceful and she would be perfectly alright without him.

“Why, if you don’t know what it is?” she asked, and the gentle motion of her fingers running through his hair was almost enough to crack through what little sanity he had left.

“Because _I can’t have you_ ,” he choked out, burying his face against the crook of her neck as he selfishly held her closer for a long moment. “It doesn’t matter how badly I want you or want some other life. This is what I have.”

“But don’t you want more?”

“I…” he took a breath, swallowing his words. Instead, he pulled away, pressed a kiss to Melody’s forehead, and mentally said his goodbyes. “Forget about me, Melody.”

He stepped away quickly and moved to straighten his clothing, turning his back to her as he righted himself. This was it. This was the last time that he would be able to see her, and he couldn’t even stand to look at her.

“You…” she began, but she never finished. Vanderwood heard the sound of a deep, heaving sigh, of fabric shuffling into place, and of a door unlocking. It opened and closed, and he was alone once more.

He took some time to gather himself before he returned to the party.

Firstly, they couldn’t be seen returning together, especially not in any kind of disheveled state. Vanderwood slowly cleaned the smears of red lipstick from his skin as best he could in front of a bathroom mirror.

By the time he returned to the main ballroom, Melody was already there, chatting in a group of partygoers like there was nothing wrong. She looked _impeccable_ , nothing like the gorgeous, disheveled mess that he’d last seen in the dimly lit room just down the hall. Rosalie laughed and smiled and guided her around the room, introducing her to people and laughing at jokes that were no doubt only debatably funny. Even Zen didn’t seem to notice anything, whirling Melody around the room for another dance with the same carefree expression as always.

The thought crossed Vanderwood’s mind that she would make an incredible agent. Her makeup back in place, clothing and hair adjusted, he never would have guessed what happened in that room if he hadn’t felt her writhing under him. He blinked, staring just a _little_ too long at her neck as he wondered how on earth she’d managed to disguise the collection of bruises and bites he’d left along her skin, but then he remembered: she worked for a theater as a costumer and makeup artist. No doubt she knew how to disguise something like that without issue.

He forced himself to turn away from her, making casual conversation with one of the guests that he knew he wouldn’t remember later. Though he remained outwardly calm, Vanderwood’s mind swirled with a myriad of thoughts. He wanted to go to her, to speak with her, to hold her again while he could, because he knew very well that he wouldn’t be able to see her again after tonight. Not if he knew what was good for him.

He _hated_ that he wanted to go to her.

What the hell was wrong with him? One woman shouldn’t shake him this badly. One woman had _never_ shaken him this badly.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to think on it more before his phone vibrated in his pocket. Odd. It was the agency phone, and it was strange for him to get calls on it from people other than Luciel. Vanderwood politely excused himself from the room and went to take the call, wondering what on earth they could be hounding him about at this hour.

It was not by any stretch of the imagination what he thought it might be.

* * *

**Day 11: 2:57AM**

**Melody’s Apartment**

It had taken Melody all of fifteen minutes in the women’s bathroom to let her tears fall enough that she could breathe evenly again, fix her makeup, and cover the rather impressively dark bruises that Vanderwood’s lips left on her skin with makeup. She was lucky that one bathroom in the venue was out of the way, far from convenient for the guests to use, and she remained alone while she calmed herself and straightened her clothing.

“Stupid,” she whispered, shaking her head. She let herself get emotionally involved when she shouldn’t have. It was her own fault, too.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Melody didn’t quite remember talking with the guests, only able to really remember dancing with Luciel and Zen, and a brief conversation with Jumin and Jaehee. Yoosung seemed like a nice person, and one she could at least relate to on a school level, though she mostly talked to him at the periphery of the room rather than while dancing. Zen was right: they did want to make her an honorary RFA member. Her exact role was yet to be decided, but no one seemed concerned about that. She was flattered, really, and felt quite honored to be let into what was obviously a tight-knit group, but even after she’d been home for an hour and the party was over, she had yet to touch the icon for the messenger app on her phone.

 _He_ wouldn’t be there, but that didn’t make it any less awkward.

Unfortunately, her lack of a presence alerted Rosalie that something was off, which resulted in subsequent hounding over IMs until Melody spilled the story. There was only so long she’d be able to hide it, anyways, so she told the abbreviated version: She had sex with Vanderwood. Really, _really_ good sex. She may have omitted the second time they had sex. She did not omit the part where she suddenly felt emotionally murky about the prospect of never seeing him again.

 

 **RosiePosie:** I’m going to murder him myself

 **MelodyTime713:** It’s fine

 **RosiePosie:** IT’s NOT fine! He broke my best friend’s heart

 **MelodyTime713:** I’m fine. I knew it was just sex, anyways. I just… feel weird. And I shouldn’t.

 **RosiePosie:** You love him. It’s not weird.

 **MelodyTime713:** Whoa

 **MelodyTime713:** No

 **MelodyTime713:** Wait

 **MelodyTime713:** Back the fuck up

 **MelodyTime713:** I do not love him. You’re the one who falls in love at the drop of a hat.

 **MelodyTime713:** If anything, I’m experiencing emotional backlash from good sex and meeting someone who’s really… nice.

 **RosiePosie:** I’d like to point out that having sex with someone you’ve only known for a week and a half us uncharacteristically reckless behavior for you

 **MelodyTime713:** … So I wanted to be reckless for once

 **MelodyTime713:** You were trapped in a bombed apartment and I had a mid-twenties crisis involving my vagina and my libido. So sue me.

 **RosiePosie:** I don’t buy it

 **MelodyTime713:** Believe what you want

 **RosiePosie:** Fine. I’m not letting this go, but I’ll let it go for tonight

 

Melody tossed her phone down on the bed and curled up on the mattress. She’d discarded her dress in favor of an old, soft t-shirt, stumbling into bed after half remembering to turn out the lights. Tomorrow would be a new day. A better day. A day to move on.


	7. In Which Melody Drives to the Mountains

**Day 12: 12:22PM**

**Melody’s Apartment**

“Vanderwood did _WHAT_?”

So much for moving on.

Melody was already halfway to her car by the time she finished her sentence. Rosalie was on the phone, calling from the middle of nowhere somewhere up in the mountains in a panic. Apparently they didn’t have time to explain much, considering the signal was bad and they kept breaking up, their voices occasionally inaudible.

“Well, we went back over to the apartment to clean it out, and we found something,” Seven began, but he didn’t get to finish.

“Rika’s alive and leading a cult and we went to investigate this morning and found Saeyoung’s brother!” Rosalie interrupted, blurting everything out in a wash of information.

“What the fuck have you gotten into, Rosalie?” Melody groaned, taking off at top speed. She wasn’t entirely sure what they wanted her to do yet, but she certainly wasn’t going to stay here, and there was at least one place she needed to go first.

“I’m sending you location coordinates. Meet us there. With luck, we might be able to talk some sense into him.” Her phone buzzed a second later with a text from Seven.

“Has anyone considered just _calling the police_?!” Melody blurted, hanging a turn just a little too quickly.

“No!” Seven said quickly. “No, you can’t. If anyone figures out our real identities, my life and my brother’s life could be in danger, not to mention Vanderwood’s life, too.”

“I’m guessing you don’t have time to explain that?”

“Not at the moment, no.”

“Ugh.”

Melody’s tires screeched around a curve as she headed for the far side of town.

“Do you at least have some vague notion of a plan?!” she cried, thoughts whirling.

“We’re winging it,” Rosalie admitted.

“Seriously?!”

“We don’t know what Vanderwood plans to do in order to keep me from exposing the agency. That’s why we need you.”

“What the hell can _I_ do?” Horns blared as she nearly ran a red light through an intersection.

“You’re smart and resourceful, but more importantly, _he cares about you_.”

“… Bullshit,” Melody choked out.

He didn’t care about her any more than you might care about any other casual sexual partner. Which was fine. Well, not fine, not yet, but it was going to be fine. Regardless, it wasn’t enough to convince her that she held any kind of emotional sway over him.

“I bullshit your bullshit,” Seven deadpanned. Rosalie gave a screech on the other end of the line, and Melody was suddenly very confident that Seven’s driving was just as hazardous as hers was right now.

“Okay, I don’t have time for this argument. Get me a location and I’ll call you back in fifteen minutes.”

“What are you going to do?! Ack! Saeyoung, be _careful_!”

“Don’t know yet, but it’s more of a plan than we currently have.”

Melody hung up the phone before Rosalie could get in another word. Clearly, if the situation was this bad, they didn’t have time to second guess themselves. In her mind, the simplest solution was always best, but… there was no simplest solution right now. She was tired and grumpy and an emotional mess, and the best thing she could currently think of was to cover their own asses in case something bad happened and they wound up out of their depth.

She barreled into the parking lot of the nearest police station, threw her car into park, and ran inside. Thankfully, there didn’t seem to be any other visitors, so she could only hope that the receptionist at the front desk would actually listen to her this time.

Well, she would just have to _make_ them listen.

“I need to talk to whichever detective is in charge of cult investigations. It’s important,” Melody said quickly, voice shaking.

“Lady, we get thirty calls a day for him and they’re all dead ends,” the desk worker said, rolling his eyes. He nearly turned back to his computer, but the sheer force of Melody’s voice stopped him.

“Well, you’re in luck. I’m not calling. I’m _here_ , and I’m _not_ leaving until I talk to him,” she snapped, loudly enough that one of the officers at a nearby desk turned to look.

“Fine. Kang’s in the back, but it’s your funeral,” the receptionist said, throwing his hands up in surrender. He pointed to the right, towards a long row of desks that each belonged to a large collection of people with bags under their eyes and too much paperwork. Melody wondered briefly if Seven or Vanderwood had ever worked somewhere like this, but pushed the thought aside as she walked quickly towards the desk with a plaque that read “Detective Kang: Division of Cult Affairs.”

She plopped down in the chair across from him without preamble, immediately launching into her explanation.

“Look, I’m about to do something very dangerous that could potentially be a big deal for you and your department, but I need you to track my location for the next… eh, 24 hours or so?”

“You got proof?” The detective sleepily looked up from his desk, obviously unamused. “We get dozens of reports like this every day.”

Melody bit her lip, nerves taking over. Alright, so she didn’t _technically_ have any proof, but she needed help, and Rosalie needed help, and she still needed to do this without exposing Seven to the police, but they were all in way over their heads… Ugh, what was she supposed to do?!

“Have you ever heard of Mint Eye?” she finally asked.

Detective Kang raised an eyebrow, eyes widening just slightly.

“Okay,” he said, nodding slowly, “I’m listening.”

“Good. I have some conditions, though.”

One fifteen-minute conversation later, Melody was out the door, off on her way to the location that Seven texted her. She hoped that she hadn’t just made a horrible, horrible decision, but she didn’t feel comfortable going into this without some kind of backup plan, just in case things went very wrong.

She drove as quickly as possible towards the location that Seven texted her, but it still took an uncomfortably long time to reach the spot. According to Rosalie, there was some kind of hostage exchange happening, but she hadn’t exactly explained everything clearly. The only facts that Melody were able to make out were few and… admittedly very confusing.

Number one: Seven had a secret twin brother. Okay, that was relatively acceptable.

Number two: Secret twin brother was the hacker that caused this mess, and also involved in some kind of cult with someone named Rika. Melody still wasn’t very positive who Rika was yet, besides “ _V’s ex girlfriend-fiance maybe sort of?_ ” However, she didn’t really know who “V” was either.

What the fuck kinda name was “V” anyways?!

Number three, and most importantly: Vanderwood, for some fucking reason, had kidnapped Seven’s twin brother, and they were now making some kind of hostage exchange involving the brother, Seven, and the agency.

When the GPS directed her on a road towards the mountains, Melody picked up her phone and dialed.

“Hey, Mels.”

“What’s happening?”

“We’re not quite there yet,” Rosalie said anxiously. “We’ll probably lose signal soon, but Saeyoung— here, talk to him. I’ll put you on speaker.”

“Hey, Melody,” Seven said from the other end of the line. “Listen, I don’t have much time, but you need to know that I can get both myself and Vanderwood out of the agency if he’ll let me.”

“What if he doesn’t?” It didn’t seem very likely. The man was stubborn.

“That’s where you come in. The plan is to get him to get into this car once we make the exchange. Once we do, I’ve programmed a message into the radio for him.”

“O… okay… I’m not following. How do we do that?”

“We convince him to take one of us hostage as security.”

“ _WHAT_?” Wow, oh golly gee, that sounded like a safe and fool-proof plan!

_Not_.

“I’m betting he’ll pick you.”

Melody paused, brow furrowing in annoyance.

“I’m sorry, are you telling me I’m BAIT?”

“I told you she wouldn’t like that,” Rosalie grumbled.

“I mean… you’re less like _bait_ and more like a juicy, prime cut of steak. If that helps. You have less connection to the agency, but enough sway over Rosalie and I that it would make just as much sense to take you as a hostage as either of us. It also works in our favor because you just might be the only person who can talk him out of this mess,” Seven said nonchalantly. “Because if we can’t… there’s a chance we all die.”

“Comparing me to other food isn’t helping your case,” Melody deadpanned. “Wait… wait, wait, wait. What do you mean we all _die_? Why can’t _you_ convince him?!”

“We’re involved in some unfortunately deep shit with some dangerous people, and as far as convincing him… He’s going to expect me to try that, which means he’ll be less likely to take me with him. It’s probably going to be you or Rosalie, and we’re banking on the person who he’s probably gunning for some alone time with. He also doesn’t know you’re coming, so surprise is on our side.”

“You’re going to get me killed,” she grumbled.

“That’s the opposite of my goal, for the record.”

“Okay, I’ll—” Melody cut off as her phone made a beeping noise that signaled call disconnect. She sighed, glancing down at the “lost signal” screen in dismay. They would all just have to wing it once she got there. Reaching over briefly into the dashboard storage, she pulled out a small, pistol-shaped device and tucked it into the waistband of her pants at the small of her back. It wasn’t really a pistol, or at least it didn’t fire bullets. It was pepper spray, meant for high-wind situations, and it really wouldn’t be much against secret agents with real guns, but it made her feel better.

She also reached into her pocket and activated the tracking device from Detective Kang. According to him, it should be able to send a location via satellite even in areas that a phone signal would be useless. However, he wouldn’t send out anyone until she sent a distress call through the tracker. With luck, they’d all be able to get out of this smoothly… but somehow that didn’t seem very likely.

When the GPS signaled that she’d arrived at her destination, Melody found herself in a dusty clearing off the side of the mountain highway, surrounded by trees and bushes. The wheels of her car kicked up dust in their wake as she careened to a stop, immediately opening the door and rushing towards four figures on the opposite side of the clearing. One was unfamiliar: a boy with white hair and similar facial features to Seven, probably the hacker. Beside him was Seven himself, and beside _him_ …

Vanderwood held Rosalie firmly next to him, one hand gripping her shoulder and the other holding a pistol pointed towards her head. Melody skidded to a stop a few paces away from them, half afraid to come any closer and half wanting to tackle Vanderwood to the ground and beat him to an unrecognizable pulp for pulling a _gun_ on Rosalie.

“I’m sorry it took me so long. I had a stop to make,” she said, coughing from the dust and struggling to speak.

“Why is _she_ here?!” the white-haired boy asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

“It’s okay,” Rosalie whispered, giving a shaky smile. Brave even with a pistol pointed towards her. Of course she was.

“Be careful, Melody, there are agents out here,” Seven said slowly, looking around. She followed his gaze, but couldn’t see anyone. So… there were people hiding out there? Watching? Listening? No wonder Seven wanted him in the car…

Vanderwood stopped dead, staring. Melody met his eyes and felt a sudden burst of absolute terror. She had no idea what he was going to do, and the thought killed her. She suddenly realized how completely and entirely stupid she’d been, becoming so attached to someone she barely knew. Maybe it was the false sense of security from feeling like he was a protector. Maybe it was the sex. Maybe it was the way his jaw went slack when he looked at her.

But the gun in his hand overpowered everything else, and concern for Rosalie’s life meant more than anything to Melody. Fuck him. Fuck everything she’d ever felt. He could die in a ditch if he hurt the person she loved like a sister.

“What the…” Vanderwood began, his hold on Rosalie loosening. After a moment’s hesitation, he pushed Rosalie back towards Seven and stepped forward, pistol still in hand. “Change of plans. You, come with me,” he practically growled, grabbing Melody’s arm roughly.

She made a noise of protest, but didn’t dare jerk away from his grip. He did have a gun, after all, and Melody really wasn’t sure if he’d use it or not. In an emergency, she still had the pepper spray tucked in the waistband of her pants, but there were only two shots, and they would be useless if she spent them at thr wrong time.

“Don’t try anything, Luciel, or I _will_ kill her.”

“Vand—” Melody tried, but it was futile.

“Shut up and get in the car.”

A cold chill shot through Melody’s already broken heart as he shoved her into the vehicle, slamming the door closed behind her. A moment later, he opened the driver’s door and plopped down in the seat, pistol still casually pointed at Melody’s upper arm, but she noted he didn’t have his finger on the trigger.

“Rosalie would be a better hostage in this situation,” she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest as she glared out the window.

“You think I care about that right now?” Vanderwood snapped. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Apparently I’m waiting on you to kill me.” Melody huffed, glancing from the gun to Vanderwood’s face and back again.

“Wha— I’m not going to _kill_ you, Melody—” he protested, moving the gun away entirely as he sighed.

“Really? Could have fooled me, what with the gun to Rosalie’s head and the threats, oh and the fact that you kidnapped Seven’s brother—”

“You don’t understand the situation you’ve just walked into!”

“Could you explain it, then? Because no one has so far!” Melody finally turned to look at them, positive that someone might be able to hear them screaming from outside the car, but she didn’t particularly care. Vanderwood opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“We don’t have time for this.”

Ugh.

Melody clenched her fists so hard that her nails pressed painfully against her palm. What was she supposed to say to get through to him? She barely even knew what was happening beyond the fact that they could all die from this if they weren’t very, very lucky and very, very careful. She was certain of one thing, though. Even after all this, she still didn’t think that Vanderwood was a bad person at heart.

“Fine, don’t tell me. I might not know everything, but I know this isn’t _you_!” She met his eyes one again, hoping that her words might reach him, but to no avail.

“And what makes you think that you know me?” he snapped, glaring. “Because I kissed you? Because we _fucked_?”

Melody slapped him at that, a sharp smack across his face that left a red mark in its wake.

“You saved my life! You helped me and you didn’t even have to.”

“Still hung up on that, aren’t you?” he muttered, rubbing his cheek. Melody ignored him.

“You’re loyal and kind, and I know you want more than this, so what the fuck do they have on you that’s making you so attached to this agency?!” She was practically screaming now, though it wasn’t likely that anyone outside the car could hear them.

“I am a ghost, Melody!” he cried, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. “I’m a living ghost. I don’t exist, and the world doesn’t know me.”

“Don’t _you_ want to know the world?” Melody asked, reaching out to touch him, but drawing back at the last second. “Look, I can’t save you from this. The only person who can make the choice to do that is _you_. Why don’t you take what he’s offering you?”

“What are you talking about?”

Melody turned towards the center console, glancing at the long row of buttons. How the hell did she turn this thing on? What did they all do? Seven definitely said to turn the radio on and the message would play, but um… oh. There.

“Why the fuck does he drive such a complicated car?” she muttered, pressing the power button.

True to his word, a message began to play as soon as Melody turned on the radio. The message didn’t offer much information to Melody, besides detailing that Seven at least halfway suspected what on earth drove Vanderwood to behave like this in the first place,  but it seemed to at least begin to reach the man sitting next to her. He sighed as the radio powered itself down again, shaking his head.

“Why would you hack the national registry, Luciel?” Vanderwood muttered, rubbing his temples.

“Because he cares.” Melody shrugged, settling back in her seat.

That was really the simple answer in all the complicated mess. Do you care?

She never really expected a yes or no question to be so complicated, but that’s what it turned into. Vanderwood obviously cared about Seven, but there was no telling who talked him into this insane plan. Seven cared about Rosalie, but he didn’t want to put her in danger by being with her.

Melody cared for Vanderwood, as much as she didn’t want to admit it. There was no telling if it was sex or lust or love or hormones, or even some wild combination of all of the above, but it was _something_. And, on most levels, she hated herself for it. Caring for people hurt. It was hard and taxing and they rarely ever gave back as much as you put into it, so what was the point in the end?

All relationships end in breakups or death, after all.

Vanderwood glanced over at her, then back to Seven.

“I need you to hold on. Things are going to move very quickly from here on out. Keep your head down and your mouth shut,” he said firmly, pulling out a walkie-talkie.

_What?_

Melody nodded, settling back in her seat with only a slight slump. They were being watched, so she couldn’t just duck and cover. Her heart beat wildly in her chest, mind moving at a hundred miles an hour.

He’d decided to help them. To save them. Some part of her whispered triumphantly that she was right, that he was a good man with good morals, but really… was there any way to tell, even based on this one action?

Yes, she thought as he spoke into the radio. _Yes_.

However, that was when all hell broke loose.

“You didn’t say you were taking the car!” Came the voice through the radio, but Vanderwood ignored it, driving forward towards Seven, Rosalie, and the mysterious brother. Melody suddenly realized with sinking dread why he’d mentioned the car was bulletproof. Shots rang out in the distance, thudding against the closed car doors as Melody instinctively ducked with a yelp.

Seven shoved Rosalie into the back first, pushing his brother in behind her. They fell into the car in a heap while it continued to roll, shots ringing out against the closed doors and cracking the windshields. Seven cried out as he slammed the door shut behind him, and when Melody looked back and saw him holding his shoulder, a dark bloodstain seeping through the fabric of his jacket.

“Shit,” she hissed, ducking again with a yelp as a bullet cracked against the passenger window, but did not shatter it. Vanderwood shoved her head down lower as Seven called out from the back.

“Let’s go! Get us out of here.”

He didn’t waste any time. The wheels of the car kicked up clouds of dust in their wake as Vanderwood sped out of the clearing and off down lonely mountain roads.

* * *

**Day 12: 4:31PM**

**A Cabin in the Woods (But Not the Horror Movie One, We Hope)**

Well, a mysterious cabin in the woods was debatably better than a mysterious drop off point in the middle of the woods. At least they had shelter, and in theory they’d managed to get away from the Agency. For now.

Melody, for her part, thought she was in shock. It felt like the whole world only existed in her periphery while she floated from afar, watching and waiting and halfway remembering her actions and words. This was probably shock. Her blood pressure was probably dropping. However, there wasn’t much they could do about that, so she chose not to mention it.

Seven had been shot. She vaguely remembered forcing him to sit on a chair while she sanitized a pair of tweezers, some kind of muscle memory surfacing of performing the same action in Luciel’s kitchen. Vanderwood removed the bullet this time, though. Rosalie could barely stand to look at it, as she didn’t do well with the sight of blood, but she managed to keep her wits about her.

While Vanderwood and Seven spoke about the best course of action, referencing hacking and typing and whatever the Agency might be planning, Melody wandered around the cabin. Everything sounded like a vague ringing in her ears, and the ringing was starting to make her irritated.

She finally wandered away from the main area, where the others sat around the coffee table, and into a back bedroom. Late afternoon summer sunlight streamed into the room, illuminating a square of the bare wood floor in golden light. Melody plopped down in the sunlight, her back to the cabin wall, unsure what to think or how to feel. She didn’t know what to do, how to proceed, or even if they would all make it out alive. How was Rosalie so calm right now? How did she keep a cool head during this?

Melody’s eyes remained fixed on a painting of a fern hung on the opposite wall as she breathed in and out, slowly and surely. Her thoughts felt like fog, her muscles like rubber, and for a moment all she wanted was to close her eyes for a while and get away from the world. However, she didn’t have that luxury right now. Ignoring the situation wouldn’t make it better.

The sound of footsteps on hard, wooden floorboards barely caught her attention. She didn’t look up, didn’t look away, but she did hear when someone spoke to her.

“How are you feeling?”

“Why does it matter?” She didn’t glance from the painting, feeling like her body was frozen in place. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered the feeling of someone sitting down beside her, shoulder barely touching hers.

“I’ve read your files. You have a history of anxiety and panic attacks.”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t need to be fine all the time.”

“I am,” Melody said mechanically. She wasn’t, though. It was only a comforting lie. As long as she maintained that everything was alright, then she would be. The tether of her calm was tied to the illusion that things would work out, and as long as she held onto that, it would give her the ability to do what needed to be done in order to make sure that it _would_ work out. A self-fulfilling prophecy.

However, just at the moment, she wasn’t sure everything would work out at all.

“You’re not.”

Melody finally blinked, looking away from the painting and turning towards Vanderwood, where he sat against the wall beside her.

“I was under the impression that you didn’t ever want to see me again.”

She thought he might bristle at that, but he looked surprisingly sheepish.

“Then why did you come?” Vanderwood tilted his head slightly, voice no louder than a whisper. He looked almost _tender_ , the same way he’d looked at her before she fell asleep…

“Rosalie asked me to,” she said quietly, avoiding his eyes.

“Is that the only reason?”

He reached out to her, his fingertips barely brushing her cheek before she flinched and pulled away.

“I don’t want to play games,” Melody said firmly, finally looking up at him. “I told you. I’m tired. My heart hurts. I came here for Rosalie, not for you.”

And it was true, mostly. She would do anything for Rosalie, and she was happy that it looked like Seven would, too. At first, she’d wanted to see Vanderwood, too.

“You had a gun to her head. I can’t forgive you for that.” Melody squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head.

“I wouldn’t ask you to.”

She swallowed thickly, opening her eyes just slightly. Her hand sought his unconsciously, fingertips barely brushing for a moment before she grabbed on and held tight, like an anchor in her floating world. Things seemed more grounded with talking, more real now that she could hear something other than the sound of her own heartbeat, but she still didn’t understand.

“Why?” she asked, squeezing his hand so tightly that she was certain it had to be painful. Even after all that, she still didn’t understand.

“They wanted to kill me,” he admitted, hanging his head. Melody stiffened, but she didn’t speak. “They told me that if I did this, they would forgive the mistake I made, but really…”

“You were buying time,” she said slowly. Seven was right. They would get to him eventually, and he was only stalling.

“Yes.”

She dropped his hand, hugging her knees to her chest instead.

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yes.”

Melody snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. “At least you’re aware of it, I guess.”

“I’m sorry.” Vanderwood slowly looked up at her, his eyes brimming with tears. Melody’s heart clenched. She wanted to hold him, to kiss him, to tell him that he was forgiven and that it would all be alright, that they would figure things out.

But it wasn’t alright.

And she couldn’t say that and still be honest.

“I don’t want your apology, and I don’t want your sympathy,” she said, shaking your head. “I want to get out of this alive— which is not a sentence I ever thought I’d say, _by the way_ — and then I want you to get your fucking act together.”

Heaving a sigh, Melody picked herself up off the ground and rolled her shoulders, stretching. She felt a little more grounded now, the panic fading for the moment as she tried to think of what to do, of what came next, of where the backup she called might be. They _were_ coming, after all. She’d activated her tracker. Maybe it would be just the help they needed, but she couldn’t afford to put her cards on the table now.

Taking a deep breath, she began to walk towards the door of the bedroom. Maybe fresh air would do her some good.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Melody paused mid-step. Had she heard him right? Was this some kind of strange practical joke?

“ _What_?!”

It felt like her heart was on fire and cracking open at once. She couldn’t grasp onto any real, coherent thoughts as she whirled around to face him, stammering.

“You— I— are you fucking with me right now? Because it’s really _not_ the time.”

“It’s not like I _intended_ for this to happen, you know,” Vanderwood grumbled, pushing himself to his feet.

She didn’t have time for this. Not here. Not now. Definitely not from _him_ , when he’d sent her the largest variety of mixed signals that she’d ever seen. So, flustered and anxious and furious, Melody simply said the first things that came to her mind.

“You’re a fucking _liar_ ,” she scoffed. “You can’t just tell me that you don’t want to see me again and we can’t have anything together and _then_ turn around and declare love. Your game isn’t working, but nice try.” She tried to brush past him and walk out of the room, but he stopped her, catching her arm in a hold so firm that she couldn’t pull away. Melody looked up, ready to protest, but something about the look in his gray eyes stopped her.

“It was never a game,” he said quietly. “I was trying to save your life by pushing you away, but I didn’t count on you being this stubborn… or this loyal.” Vanderwood sighed, dropping her arm.

Melody felt like she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Could barely feel anything at all. Everything was a wash of emotions and adrenaline and hurt, and she wanted to believe him more than anything… but she couldn’t. Not for the sake of keeping her heart in one piece. Not for the sake of getting out of here alive. It wasn’t the right time or place, and there were more important things she had to do. Not to mention there was still the image of the gun pointed towards Rosalie blaring through her mind, and that wouldn’t just go away.

“Well, congratulations. You’ve found the limits of my loyalty.” Melody squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and walked away, leaving him standing alone. She didn’t dare look back.

* * *

**Day 12: 6:00PM**

**The Same Cabin**

He’d really, really fucked up this time.

At one point, Vanderwood was certain that he’d thought there was a limit to how stupid one person could possibly be, but it turned out he might be proving himself wrong.

First there was the Agency, the kidnapping, the plan to out a group of people to the public in a risky plan to save all their lives that had a very, very tiny chance of working, not to mention that due to the kidnapping of Luciel’s brother definitely put them on the radar on a cult. That was a wild card he hadn’t prepared for, and there was no telling how it would work out.

And now the woman he was nearly positive he was in love with was hurt, and angry, and mistrustful, and it was all his fault.

Vanderwood had been in love before, a very long time ago. At least, he thought he had. It hadn’t felt like this back then. He’d felt lust, of course, and he’d be deluding himself if he tried to deny that he lusted over Melody, but last time…

He’d never known what it was like to want to be with a woman this badly, and not only sexually. Something about Melody made him want to talk to her, to know how she viewed the world. She had a fire and a passion that had drained from his eyes and his heart long ago, more human than he’d felt in so long. He existed as a cog in a machine, and his other romantic trysts lacked the kind of permanence that underscored even the brief moments with Melody— the lingering touches, the concern in her eyes, urge to _stay_.

Vanderwood _wanted_ to stay… and, drunk on the idea that he might have a remote chance at living outside the agency, he’d blurted out words that he couldn’t take back. Premature? Absolutely. Honest?

_Yes_.

Absolutely, yes.

Maybe, if they made it out of this, he’d be given the opportunity to make it up to her in the future. If he was very lucky, and if he begged for forgiveness, perhaps she’d give him a chance, but everything was far too dangerous and complicated to think about that now. They needed to make it through this day first.

After that, they could think of the future.


End file.
